G. Z. Kieft

spring time is for the living
and once it’s done?

i’m half drenched in summer sweat
hunched over my laptop, manic
whining about some distant regret

bunch of backlogged dramatics

but springtime was wonderful
and springtime was fun

now the summer sun
has me on a losing spree
wrapped up in its sweaty palms
and it’s juicing me
every drop of sweat
collects
in the grooves of my tee
no one expects
a season to wreck
someone so ruthlessly

yet
the truth may be

why summer’s what i complain about
the heat boils me up like pots of tea
and the whistle blows my brains out
all over the page in scattered poetry
with a ribcage half crushed
and maybe that’s a bit much
and not as nice to discuss
as smelling a springtime rose
plush against my nose
but what is springtime to me
when i can be miserable and flushed
hunched over some beautiful prose