Admit you don't love aimless June,
the midsummer month, too hot to stress
& sweat & fidget beneath the moon.
The bullfrog's oboe tones obsess
the reeds, throaty come-ons for copper snakes.
Well, that's pretty nice. Perhaps the month is moot.
& there's the namesake bug, its anticake-
walk leavings, chairs for former marchers, beaut-
iful jewels clipped to the screens, as if bedecking Garbo's
swanny neck, the dramatic arc of a sultry drive-in play.
She could save all summer. She could kiss the hobo,
then he'd go on to earn it, to get a designer day
job tying hankies to sticks. They'd lie under rhinestone
skies off the tracks to Texas. She'd learn to love his rank cologne.
From For Girls (& Others), originally published in Court Green as part of their bouts-rimes dossier in issue #3.