Summer Dunces
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The ones who care for summer are the ones
Who like to spend their time with stupid stuff
Like going to the mindless beach. If suns
Sear skin with blisters pink enough to puff
Out pain on stupid flesh, the stupid mobs
Just go get burned. Their backs and shoulders turn
To penance red but they don’t feel the throbs
Of penitence. They’ll go out next year, burn
Their August backs and shoulders once again,
And worship roasting summer’s heat anew.
Their doctrine, if they think at all, says pain
Is proof of happiness so they just stew
In humid air devoutly. Let them be.
Allow sun worship’s scalds of third degree.