May

The Bureaucracy of Weather

Almost June,

and where has summer been

but held up

in some waiting room,

hot and slow

and circulating?

There is always

another day for patience,

it seems,

always some enclosed place

with a gleaming

on the other side

to get to when I’m done.

Well, here I am

enclosed within my month

of rain,

waiting for the summer’s

ticket number

to be called,

and both of us released

from the bureaucracy

of weather.

Before I know it,

though,

I’ll be in some air-conditioned

waiting room,

thinking to myself

at least it’s cold

because the summer isn’t here

but somewhere in the grass

outside this boring

stuffy building

where no bureaucracy

can get to it.

I’ll imagine even

that the summer might be

right outside,

watching the swing

and latch

of double doors,

waiting for me

to hurry up

and come back out to it.