poem

 AugustAugust againThe end of summerThe end of something youNever got around to namingNostalgia arises for a Scheherazadean hazeObscuring the details of whatMust have been your very own life Join me for a drink in the Florida room Where the ceiling fan rattles like a loose grocery cart wheelAnd no one should be forced to endure these chairsWasps leer on the other side of the screenBut there isn ’t anything to sayWe listen, note the inconsistency of odorsRealize we ’re out of ginOut of gasI should have mowed the grassIt ’s high time we harvested the fruitsOf our own forgetfulness8/15/23

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - August 15, 2023 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs