august August

“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain, I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end…” -James Taylor

I’ve seen sweltering Virginia summers,
dogs panting fruitlessly under the trees,
glasses of sweet tea pouring their sweat
in pools on table tops, when even gnats
become a little languorous.
I’ve fetched river water for flushing
and cooked in a wheelbarrow after a hurricane.
I’ve seen Central American monsoons,
rain-curtains pouring off tin roofs,
and felt Colorado skies turn white
with the heat of a summer day,
but a gusty Arizona August is unparalleled.
I’ve never been one to brag
about the weather, but ours deserves
distinction. Imposing dust clouds billow,
yellowing the sky. Palm trees bow
to the regal procession of the wind.
For sheer, awe-inspiring grandeur,
look no further. Arizona August
takes the cake, bakes it, blows it away,
and then washes the dishes.

 

From an East Valley Poets prompt

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