summer bummer

summer at 7

drape ourselves like our mothers curtains

run down hills and dark streets

feel the child like grins

vanilla ice cream cones and comfort

thunderstorms that make our stomachs churn

experiences that make our hearts beat faster

things that we are so use to that the nostalgia erupts

we paint our toes pink in overgrown backyards

and talk about boys until the sun comes up

we raise our apple juice boxes

to the memories we have made

and are going to continue to make