Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Hi Summer, I promise to cherish you.

To make a long story short
let's just say, I finally got my life back
and thank god because I recently suffered a rude awakening
when I received a picture message from my brother
of a Vassar bug that had come to wreak havoc in my apartment
with its long, spindly, abundant legs
rapid movements, and general fear inducing grossness
technology never fails to (literally) disgust me
and it took me back to those nights where whilst I screamed & cowered
my roommate would calmly attempt to trap these horrific bugs and get rid of them
and sadly I remembered the night one of the creatures fell into my bed,
never to be found
how this monstrosity ended up in my apartment, hours away from Poughkeepsie
still baffles me
but it was an omen, that bug said "oh hey gurrrrl,
your summer is flying by"
Sophmore year is soon approaching, love life while you can"
I'm quite thankful for the bug (I never got to actually witness it)

I miss the summers when jobs didn't matter
and on my little street in Astoria someone would open the fire hydrant
sending a gush of frigid water that all the kids on the block
could run through, cooling down, filling up empty Poland Spring bottles
to spray at each other
and kids from other blocks would come
excited by the impromptu & illegal sprinkler
we would block traffic, squirting water guns and screaming
and on the days where the sprinklers didn't come to us
the days were filled with big boxes of sidewalk chalk,
hand-scrawled hopscotch boards with pebbles sprinkled on the numbered squares
while eating italian ices, that never failed to drip cherry red all over our t-shirts
there were the countless hours spent riding my Yaak scooter
(Razors were just too expensive)
rolling down the small grassy hills of Astoria Park and
playing with my Skip-It, watching the numbers on the dial
hundreds of revolutions, and I would be worn out
I can't find my Skip-It, so now, a decade later
I settle for sweet picnics,
I abandon the age old pb&js for brick oven pizza,
the frozen Capri Sun pouches for Arnold Palmer Arizona
letting the smell of the grass, and the cherry juice that stains my fingertips
incite my nostalgia.

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