Every Summer by Holliday Vann
Every summer, I forget how loathsome, my neighbors—-lawnmowers and pups, going mmmmmmmmm and yup, yup, yup, conspiring in some sort of cross species agreement against me. Oh, and let us not forget their gangs of daredevil sons, peeling back pavement on beer fumes and motorcycle zooms. Forgive us as we forgive those. But take a gander at this, me, dropping a rain-rotted win-der, me, raising a symbolic middle finger. And turning. Forfeiting free birdsong air for other, lesser, Freon air; this ruthless Klingon, never ending, humming on and on, electric air; filtered by metal lungs from a central unnatural source, because a sistah can’t catch a whisper of a breeze—-blinking at summer like a firefly from a shiny mason jar—-for the return of summer chaos.
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In the summer of Covid-19 and Racism 2020,
be well, be safe,
wear your mask, if not for yourself,
do it for others.
