Ok, it isn't really the end of summer for a few more weeks, but seeing the back-to-school ads and our general population increase, it feels that way. So, I wrote a quick poem this morning. I suck at titles, so it is as yet, untitled:
Summer is precocious
in this college town
when internships and so many
soon to be lost virginities cause
our population
to feel its age.
At first, it's just the
traffic's lighter and
the cereal aisle
less crowded.
Raisin Bran is on the
10 for $10
instead of Lucky Charms and Trix.
At the downtown bar,
you'll realize that
blue-eyed boy is gone
and your glass of wine
is delivered by a girl
too young to have crow's feet
and a picture of a toddler
in the black wallet where she
takes down your order.
Sure, you'll fire up the
grill, make sangria and
suntan your forearms and shins,
but even the boys brazen
enough to jog or play tennis
with their shirts off seem to
apologize for the 6 packs
being Bud Light Lime.
It isn't until the first, cool
night in August,
just after the extra long
twin sheets appear in Target
that you realize the prodigal
Abercrombie princes
have returned
wearing unabashed sex
as easy as pre-distressed
t-shirts and plastic flip-flops.
A table over, you hear someone
use the word "syllabi"
and a group of girls
in homecoming court heels
walk by
talking about "circle up".
And so, you sigh
force a wider smile
and slide an extra $5
in the wallet
and remember the
blue-eyed boy
is named Jacob.
