Friday Afternoon

The leaves turn up their palms
To the powdered heavens.

The geese strut across
The busy fairways
Toward the
Emptying office parks.

The heat rises up
Off the blacktop
Like fervent prayer,

And the school buses
Disgorge children
Delirious with fleeting,
New-found freedom.

The partners in the law firms
And their real estate clients
Are on the back nine, while

The ballparks
And the synagogues
And the high school
Football fields
Fling open their gates,

And everyone
That lives by this calendar
Prepares to put their burdens down
And breathe in
Summer's last.

--Mr. Gobley

1 comment:

karen said...

*And breathe in Summer's last*. How beautiful.

I wrote a poem once of the adolescense of Spring, lost w/the maturity of Summer.

God knew what he was doing; creating cyclicity. I always get dizzy, sometimes fall down, but never regret the gift.

I named my oldest daughter Autumn. And she definitely is.