Slowly in the summer
the days pass, uneventful
I’m so uncomfortable
with the pictures they paint
the exact same skies
roll overhead that I’ve always seen
through a windshield commute
the exact same hours
I used to cut up in chunks
like watermelon
and eat in sequence–
the time was always there
midnight just a marker
noonday sun arbitrarily
signaling lunch–
I can eat now
whenever I please
but I can’t find meaning
unless I invent it
Day 202 – Slowly in the Summer
The 365 Poetry Project 
Ah, yes summer the most horrendous time of the year