J. Andrew Arrick
An Endless summer brings a glare from the cedar slated balcony.
Flat up, a steep silled window looks to the shrubs then the row of trees,
Converse All Stars clean white and black,
scrape the sill and fill the cracks with gravel
as out the foxhole to the great known battle field of yard;
they fly with no avail.
With sword in hand, the sheathed tin
with glass buttons glares at a sweaty brow.
Up the slated porch with drawn arrows
The shots fly into white ninja target.
CHARGE!!! Lieutenant Johnson orders
Saracen blades drawn to down frail foe
of shrub and tree, in clump and row.
Retreat, that imminent thing these friends of summer darn not disobey,
with a snake path sprint from gunfire and mortars.
All caps leap off heads from brushing arrows.
From fair haven foxhole, the dawning comrade yelps like a bard in battle.
From room tombed bed knobs where slates shadows are gone
and the shaggy best friend pants and yawns.
With summer drowning and windows shut,
sweat is swiped from brow and bed again at days end.
End of bright from summer’s glare the boys in lair
in cover in pillow, lay with sleepy nights under balcony.