Diehard Summer Of 94 Poem by robert dickerson

Diehard summer of '94
Temperature soaring like a hot stock-
The leathery sun ticked to a stop
over the glistening shales.

Ravenous flowers overspilled their beds
and flooded the step; hairy brown bees
reeled rabidly from odor to odor
venged on ochers and reds.

Between exhausted leaves
hung hideous bugs whose names were hidden:
downriver they sent a keen.
a boathorn blew a warning.

Elders on benches yammered in Yiddish
'We cannot have this
lest the stupid Tauben
twice begin to nest'.

For men were sick of the sun, his braggadocio.
Even you, whose liver was a tar beach, breathed
the boredom of his canticles,
lies and shifting foci.

Through atmosperes, a golden pulse,
regularly regular, it was perfect.
There was a triangle's tin-tin-tin.
On a skateboard of ice was etched 'the End'.