Last Weekend of Summer

.
A butterfly flicks

here

and
there

amongst
the
trees.

My neighbor's grilling again,
from the pungent smells
chicken this time.
Another is trying to green his lawn
with a sprinkler
arcing forward and back
to rejuvenate the chlorophyll
within the blades.

The tree leaves wave
west to east
in the late afternoon sun
and breezes
as do the flags on the front porches.

The last weekend of summer
in the suburbs.
And the music blasts
from a few open garage doors,
summer songs:

summer's gone.



"Say, Mrs. Gray
She's proud today
because her roses are in bloom."

- The Monkees

www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEQVaOClUrw&feature=fvst