A Phone Call to July
weather report: the
wind was light, it was, the sun
was on. it was hot. hello mister
sun. i could have a a date. i didn’t have a date.
no. there was no
date. it was june. it was unlike june.
the month jumped and sputtered. it
wiggled like no one was
watching. june was alone,
by itself, creepy, creeping june and no talk.
no touch no telephones.
just june bugs. i dropped the orphaned
bunny off at the rehab center. the divorce was finalized. it
was june still, unstill june. one june day. the
insurance got switched. work was work, money, work
caused friction. money is the hottest month, a grey day.
it had been
a year of
one chaotic season. the market was up. i slept when i
heard. a crackhead called me an asshole when i
kicked him out. boys will be. boys are boys. crack
is venerated by boys. thin boys. poor boys. crack vicars.
i slept when i kicked him out. june consisted of this. girls
were at the end of their cell phones, too; i was told this
was okay. that may have been poor counsel. june went this way.
needing a speech, a june day aria, a vote of continuance,
i stayed up seeking it, stayed vigilant for a sign
on which was written
sleep. rest. awaken. move around.
june was windswept. june was the spotted maple leaf. the
perfect accidental chord. hello june. i said, hello and goodbye
goodbye mister june
and forced my finger
to dial in a singular
act of heroism, just a phone call, darling,
to july.
