The Worst Summer Since 1928

It's July and it rains every day here;
well if not rain then
clouds, gray and thick with no end.
I haven't seen the sun for days and
I wonder what She's doing up there-
concentrating
on scorching Mercury perhaps,
looking bored.

Perhaps She's up there just waiting
for the moody Earth to wake up
on the right side one morning, and decide
to invite her in. "Oh, Sun! Where have you been?
It's been so gloomy here.
I've had the curtains pulled,
and haven't had the desire
to get out of bed where my blankets
stay warm as long as I'm there."

They say it's the worst summer here since 1928,
and I look out the window
and try to imagine
what 1928 was like here- black and white,
or sepia, two dimensional,
and clip-clop-clipping over the cobblestones,
the very same cobblestones that we
shuffle silently over these days
with soft shoes
that look like spaceships.


Written by Rachael Sage Payne ©

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