Ninety plus degrees,
purple haze of humidity,
the notion sticks to the sky;
it's summer, supremely.

Perfumed ants, dust peonies,
popsicle tears, dot the walk,
black licorice pavement melts;
it's summer, supremely.

Everyone's top is down,
haltered, otherwise altered,
boys in skin, no shirts;
it's summer, supremely.

"It's cooler by the lake,"
the noon weathermen tease,
inviting the outskirters in;
it's summer, supremely.

Fans and air conditioners,
the hum and whir of blades,
lawnmowers and lemonade;
it's summer, supremely.

Trees stand firmly by day,
set to sway in the evening,
"good sleeping weather;"
it's summer, supremely.