road trip

spring into summer and it smells like chlorine; like disgusted looks in bus stop wait-lines. like skinned knees and painful smiles and "you're fine, you're fine, you're fine." the grass is growing, the weeds blooming and flowers changing, and the sun stays up until seven-thirty now. and i am thinking that the fight is worth the fall; that the lake is worth the kelp tickling the soles of your feet, the fish scattering beside your kicking, kicking legs.

let heat and false nostalgia be the dutiful guide of this fleeting optimism. i haven't had a good summer, yet.