Lazy Last Day
612…613…614
The hammock sways up and back
up and back
616…617…618 up and back.
Time has run away, and is nowhere to be found.
I am nothing more than a breathing grandfather clock lazily reclining
in my swinging seat that
I swear once belonged to the Lazy Boy himself…
whoever that was.
It’s been drizzling for the past 500 or so up and backs of the hammock,
I love it.
It’s like God set the clouds on mist.
The clouds dance around the descending sun;
they begin to cover it like a silky purple sheet
covers a magician’s hat right before he
pulls out Peter Rabbit.
The piercing sent of a barbecue starts to envelope my nose
and wet my mouth.
I lift my head up for the first time in what
I would guess was 800 or so up swings of the hammock… but one can never be sure.
The neighbors are cooking, they’re always cooking.
It’s nothing but a big tease really,
I become cursed like the pizza boy,
who’s able to smell the delicious combination of cheese, sauce, bread, and grease... but never able to taste it.
I close my eyes and start to think about Senior year, but
for now I hold onto the waning daylight in
the last day of summer.
994…995…996…
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