This Summer

And so we play our little game,

wherein the victim is betrayed.

We build our garden walls stone by stone,

around our precious little diamond selves;

we knock down the walls with mallets,

and then begin again.

The first to act is first to win,

The winner gets a crown.

The crown is made of cardstock,

and bejeweled with plastic gems;

We trade it back and forth,

and wear it on our heads,

and for that precious moment

(til it is stolen back again)

we have the right to say,

"ME, I have the crown and I am KING!"

We take our crown to the merry-go-round,

and ride from start to close.

The buskers and the ticket-takers

cannot know the FUN we have

while riding our ride,

and trading back and forth the crown,

and finding hidden spots

where the white skin is exposed,

and thrusting our plastic swords,

where they'll really cause some pain,

and twisting the hilts,

and bearing our teeth as we're

grinning our stupid I am KING grins.

We say, Fie, Love, you demon witch!

We will kill it here and now!

And we try to catch minnows with boxing gloves,

and try to punch the clouds,

and try to make love to our own reflections,

and they always say I love you back, and say it just as loud.

Have pity on us, for we will disappear.

Before the summer’s light has shifted

Southward for the fall,

we will have gone so far away

as to never have been here at all.