Hazy summer afternoons,
to sit under the shade of a parasol,
sip tea, and delicately nibble a pastry
while admiring a perfectly green lawn.
Me? I'd rather have a bacon buddy;
never had a parasol nor an army of straw
standing to attention saluting a lawn mower.
\From my flat, I can see a grey factory
wall painted white by the sun,
but no hazy pastel colored afternoons though.
When I venture out, the moon is in full charge of the night,
and no one sees me leave; bothersome people
who might ask about hazy pubs.
\April and May are the best months;
time before April is vainglorious hope,
and after May bitter disappointment.
"Why?" I ask myself, do we chase around for love,
when the end result is just another
Greek vase of illusion
shattered on the kitchen floor?