June 19, 2015


By June,
the snowbirds
have all gone home,
cars heading north,
taking them back
where they belong.

Heat fills the valley,
nothing moves.
Streets are empty,
many stay inside,
doing all they can
to be cool.

A few bake in the sun
out at the pool;
hot wind and sand
scour everything new.

By September,
we're all waiting for rain;
moving a bit slower,
we still remain.

The snowbirds
are returning,
each one wondering
how we've been;
they say,
they couldn't stay here,
in the spring,
but now they've all
come back, again.

They can't know
we're not like them, anymore;
having lived through summer,
on our own,
we're more than ready
for the fall.