june, you, monthlong solstice
your 30 days of day
of Light’s false dominion /
he suggests a good way to estimate
the number of roses on my climbing rose bush
is to count the number of buds and blossoms on one linear foot of branch
so, I do.
there are 60 or more
i probably missed some
then 6,000? or more?! on this eight year old gem
how many june bouquets, boutonnières and corsages they would a florist supply
instead,
i keep them all for future rose hips,
and refuse to prune
unless a branch cracks under
the weight of drenched petals in this year’s wild june rainstorms
so many vases i have filled this june.
i suggest that i may create a perimeter of this variety of rose
an impenetrable devastating fortress of thornage — a natural, beautiful “devil’s rope”
i once saw a group of mule deer clear an 8′ fence in colorado — without a running start, could a herd of robot dogs do that?
he sees i’ve saved old nails, screws and Mexican coke and beer bottle caps in an empty 3lb coffee tin
shrapnel?
he eyes the unrecycled bottles in the barn
i don’t say, but he knows.
i redirect at his nervous laughter,
“these hollyhocks are a reverse summer advent calendar
the last blossom atop the tallest stem blooms
on august 31
the last day of summer,”
i say
we all know september is not still really
summer.
now,
imagine going all the way to Greece to see red bougainvillea climbing the walls of white houses trimmed in blue
imagine storming the beach in Albania for real estate development, tourism and the ‘gram
imagine marrying like yankee doodle fools
in Madison Square Garden
this summer.
while Lebanon burns
while Gaza dies
while Cuba starves
while ebola and Western-backed militias ravage Congo
while Venezuela lies in rubble
the ugly, glutton,
the unshameable American
the cruel, 250th summer.
