Alison

15

five senses of summer

one:
stranger’s sweaty fingers
gripping nervously around your waist
hair swinging feet patting the
gum-stained concrete
hips mamboing to the ta-ta-ta-ta rhythm
from the boombox on the corner

two:
intermingled saturday night porch cigars
and old burnt charcoal no one cleaned out of
barbecue pit
and the decay of droopy wisteria
fade into black

three:
cicadas night in, night out
plugged in your ears
as you strain to distinguish their
everlasting morbid song
from the hiss of tailpipes in the street

four:
ice cream soup on too-hot days
sickening sweet on the teeth and then
sour aftertaste sucking in your
cheeks and grinding on your teeth

five:
leaking drops of sunset
into the embracing swells of ocean waves
as colors drain out of the sky
and the night yawns