Chani Zwibel

I know.

Summer’s dying.
Even as humidity
Stretches, pulls, strains
Rubber bands around,
Around again, over-used
Sweat pants saturated.

Hump-backed swells
Of fat ozone ripple
Cream-thick,
Mayonnaise-rotten,
Over-under-over,
Dissipating
Into heat-lightning.

Frost hibernates
Bides time,
Hides under cool crevices
Of moss-faced river rocks
Its tiny beady eyes peep out,
Watching for September
Cold.