On the first night of summer
You listen to the sound from the neighbor‘s
lawn mower while you fire up the barbeque.
You feel the soft touch from the first mosquito
searching for your warmest vein.
You sit with friends discussing star-wars and
the rock-stars who have passed.
You have to rush inside to hide
from a sudden thunderstorm
forgetting ashtrays and half-filled glasses.
And finally you go to bed
(well after sunrise) with a hangover
yet pending for the second day of summer.
Another poem towards 30 in April, which is a list for Out of standard at toads
April 26, 2018