June

The merry whistle of the cardinal bird

Rings through the sky on the twenty-third.

Though June is ripe and June is here 

One young girl trembles in fear.

Augusts come and Augusts go

But this summer month is a deadly blow.

Change will come, and come in droves. 

Like the cigarette smoke that stinks of cloves.

Leopard-printed boots will fade 

So will my smudgy eye shadow shade

The somber, suggestive violet sky 

 Provokes the search for my capital WHY