July by Kate Foley

Summer means warm rain
and you asking me if I like it.

It doesn’t mean sitting on a patch
of shaded sidewalk smoking cigarettes

even in 96º, driving too fast
on the highway, wearing shorts so

high-waisted your cheeks fall out.
Summer doesn’t mean letting go

of the seasons and living in the
right-here-right-now feel-good

weather-time. It’s not trips to the beach
or the greenest grass slipping between

your toes or sunscreen or sandals
or skinny dipping. I mean to say it is all

of these things but, most of all,
it is us, you asking me if I like it

as you fumble with your car keys,
and I like it so much

I could stand in the rain forever.


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