Summer in the Deep South

Irony of Summer in the Deep South: (contest entry)

Summer in the Deep South 

My Southern home, your sweltering blanket,
your windless heat smothers your people,
enrages your angry youth, their tempers flaring.
Your weak and your infants languish
in mill houses without air conditioning
too hot to sleep, too restless to rest
Your old, with damaged lungs, gasp for breath

and yet, what irony, this Southern sauna
warms the chilled bones of your old,
cool water sprays from sprinklers
teasing children, inciting laughter and delight.
Your people, sipping sweet iced tea, rock on porches
waving to neighbors as they stroll on sidewalks.
Dogs on leashes weave webs among their feet.

Southern summers last a while, but even in the South
leaves fall, wind blows, ice forms and melts, and plants grow,
days get short, some elderly and weak are put to rest,
children stay in,  parents cook for endless holidays.
The irony returns as we shield our faces
from February’s icy wind, and we pray
for summer to return again. 


SWPoet