Waiting For A Change

Summer is packing bags
with stockpiled memories
of lazy beach days;
of salty kisses and sunburn hugs;
of balmy, barbecued nights
doing the mosquito-slap dance
on friend-filled balconies;
of cotton-sheeted dreams
and cool-change smiles.

“Winter won’t be long,”
say my fickle feathered friends,
who’ll leave their homes
hanging in autumn-bare trees;
unintentionally cruel reminders
of avian, volitant freedom;
of long ago yesterdays
when summers stretched
tall shadows on a small boy.