CXIII: The Seven Days of August: i

My sandals, from the dismal closet, spring!

And not with socks now, no: the hounds are loose!

These are the days when outings always bring

with them our shins and toes, free from abuse!

These are the days when tans have taken hold,

and everyone is used to thirsty throes.

These are the days when skin is much more bold,

and cars sing songs out wide open windows.

We’re out! And comfortable within the wild.

The festivals have taken their effect.

We’re bored and brave and blissful as a child,

immune to weather and its harsh neglect.

Say, August, are there parks you wish to see?

Where would your wanton warmth wish me to be?