You learn so much during the summer,
Like that after two everybody sleeps ‘cause
it’s too damn hot to move. Also, that
your favorite blue jeans will not become your favorite jean cutoffs
and why in hell would you try to do that and
ruin a perfectly good pair of pants. You also learn
that the movie theater is the best place to spend
an hour or two in the A.C. feeling like a queen in a
big velvet throne, sipping sweet Coca-Cola
which turns your t-shirt brown and sticky.
You learn during the summer, that crawdads are best caught
after a big storm, and that mud puppies die when
your brother pulls off their tails. Also that they boy-next-door
doesn’t really like you, ‘cause he tells you every day
But during the Fourth-of-July, after the picnic,
When the sun finally goes down and you’re listening to the
crish-crash-spark of the fireworks
He sneaks up behind you,
And kisses your cheek. Which is weird.
During the summer, you learn
That adults need quiet time,
Because all that gosh darn crashing around
Gave them a headache, and why on Earth would you
Ever decide that throwing a baseball inside
is a good idea?
And that when your best friend tells you that she is sick so
She can’t come over tonight for dinner,
She’s lying and is really over at your other best friend’s house
Painting her toenails and having a sleep over. Without you.
But you learn that really they had a fight, so they need to make up,
And that’s why they didn’t invite you,
so it’s really ok. You guess.
In the summer, on Sundays, you learn
That God hates a sinner and liar and thief. But he loves you.
So it’s ok, because you haven’t sinned or lied or stolen.
Except those times that you’re bored in church, and laugh
At the pastor’s baldhead, and that time you told your Ma that it wasn’t
You who ate the last cookie, but your brother.
But you’ve certainly never stolen. Probably.
So it’s ok, because God loves you, but you have to remember never to do any
of those things ever again ever
In your whole life, and if you do you’ll burn in hell.
You learn a lot in the summer,
Like that the last days of August
Are the quickest in the entire year, so you’ll never have enough time to
Go for a last swim, or go back to the movies for a Coca-Cola
Or even say bye to the boy-next-door, who you never liked any way,
But you just wanted to get your kite, which he stole, back before he moved away.
Really far away.
You learn in the summer that the last night before school
Actually happened a day after the last day of school,
Because no way it is time for the school year to start.
You learn during that last summer morning, when
Your Ma is yelling at you to wake up, and you jump outta bed
And pull on your favorite jean-turned-cutoffs, and you’re
Already fifteen minutes late, so you have to high tail it
To the end of the road to make the school bus,
That this year you’ll never make the bus on time.
You learn during those last summer minutes,
As you walk into your new class room and
The bell is about to ring, and you catch sight of
a calendar, that there are 180 school days
left before the end of the year.
You learn in the last seconds of summer
That you’ll probably never make it
Through a year of new teachers
And hard classes and homework,
So you should just give up, but if you do,
You’ll have to take summer classes,
And then how would you learn anything?
You learn during the last second of sum…
You learn during the first seconds of the school year
That the bell rings fast.