I heard their noise tonight. Too soon, too soon.
Their grating chirp belongs to fall, and I’m
Just ready to stretch out, luxuriate
In soft fruit spilling juice, warm days,
And evenings still day-bright at nine o’clock.
I glare at seven o’clock’s half-faded sky.
How can it look like this in June? Because,
My mind pipes up, this is September now.
Long days, fresh peaches – those sweet treasures lie
The other side of winter. Wait it out.
(My mind is such a pest. I hate it when
She knows her stuff.) You sound like crickets, Mind.
Shut up, don’t give advice, just let me sulk.
(She won’t, of course.)