Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Monday, June 10, 2024

Bimbo Season


Summer and I cannot really be friends--
she is tiresomely popular
with her garish daylight that extends
heedlessly into my delicious darkness.

She's the hot girl, skin-deep,
boring me to death with her obviousness
too loud, too cheap,
queen of the surfer boy entourage. 

If only there were some ceremony
that I could perform
to summon chilly winter here for me,
my old bestie returned.

I would live in a bus with bed and blankets
and a storm outside,
all the windows hung with trinkets
and--weirdly--streaming tv.

Yes, an all-comforts bare-bones hideaway
out in the distant sticks
up on four wheels on a winter's day
with soup and chocolate!

Sadly, here I am with this bimbo season summer,
my imagined paradise
far away and impossible--bummer!
White it out winter,

Come back with your cool quiet and I'll write you a killer poem 
to knock your woolly socks off. 

for Word Garden Word List--Night Road

Music: Fleetwood Mac Bare Trees


  1. You always write killer poems that knock my socks off. I so relate to this. I live here in summer much as I do in winter - tv streaming, exhausted, fuzzy blankets, the works. In my case it is called Old Age, or Having Worked Decades Past the Point of Exhaustion. LOL. I love this poem. It speaks to me.

  2. Goddammit, I absolutely love this poem, Shay! I feel the same way about summer! There is the odd day I give in to it but only when I have no choice. Give me a winter any day to take me back to my artist self. I love the image you paint with the bus with the storm outside! What cosy feels! :)

  3. I LOVE it when you personify the seasons!! It is among my favorite things you do as a poet and no one does it better.

  4. Oh my goodness, all winter I yearn for summer! No way I would want to summon winter back any too early. It is long enough as it is!

  5. I'm sorry, Shay, I can't go with you there. I know she's your bestie and all, but winter coats my joints with shards of rust and summer (I know, I know, "hot girl, skin-deep) is a relief, treats me old bones with respect. (Wish I could rid her of her humidity.)

    You had me laughing though, and admiring your characterizations! She really does behave as the abominable queen bee of the seasons. So bold. So brash. Alas! If we could but tell her to dial it down!

  6. This moody exclamation of disdain for summer hits me hard. Summer does drag on it seems. I love warm weather, but not the crispy, burnt days of it. There is something about winter darkness that gives me the cuddles, a place to fold into the dark parts of me I enjoy. Love this poem!

  7. One of the myriad reasons I left the town of my birth was the harsh and unforgiving winter. Here I have learned to hate high summer as well. It's the intermediary seasons I love now, the twilight and dawn light of fall and spring. Nonetheless your characterization of summer as the beach blanket bingo doll of seasons is spot on. Made me smile.


Spirit, what do you wish to tell us?