The Last Day

The children are running tugging a kite down
sandy lines. No crashing waves today green
Neptune is content to lazy lick the shore. Nan
Taylor strikes the triangle and its silvery voice
floats on breeze until the snap of summer
flip flops beat tempo across the salt weathered
deck. Red Solo cups line the cross tied wooden
table filled with fresh lemonade or dark sweet
tea. Grilled corn, platters of hot dogs and burgers
passed from hand to hand. We partake in this last
day of summer. I wipe the juice from Joel's child
face from being buried in a huge slice of ruby melon.
This is my last summer.