I sleep with my windows open
beg summer into my bedroom
turn the fan on and hope tomorrow
will be hot enough to pull my shorts
out of storage.
I drink dark beer in July.
The ocean breeze negates the need
for air conditioning, swimming pools
and Otter Pops.
Cars whizzing by
on the 55 do not lull me to sleep
the way a 12 pack of Natty Ice
and crickets can.
There are no fire pits here,
no meatless bbqs or Frisbee golf.
The liquor stores stay open past nine
and the fireworks from Disneyland
hide the stars.
I miss the river, the sound of water
in the backyard like liquid tranquility.
I miss the smell of the trees and
the day’s exhaustion settling in
behind my buzz and laughter.
I miss the cousins underfoot, dripping
watermelon and dirt, picking berries
off the trees and the neighbors coming
over with beer instead of the police.
I sleep with my windows open
beg summer to follow me south
and settle in like the peace I’ve lost.
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