by Earl J. Wilcox
Days like ours recently when July weather
has turned cool as May we’re told global
warming is at work, though Apocalyptic
preachers use the drop in temps to parade
the Rapture around like a kid with a toy
he got last Christmas but only today decides
to show it to us. Moon watchers add other
layers to drama by linking chilly days
in Carolina to the moon walk of four decades ago
or to the total eclipse seen by millions in China
and India . I do admit my marigolds are looking
like someone gave them an infusion of gold
overnight, and my limp verbenas suddenly
seem like freckled-face wonders. Instead
of mowing my grass today, I pretend it’s on
hiatus from growing, walk across its lushness,
revel in my own theory of weather change:
summertime and the livin’ is easy.
Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl.
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