An Arizona Summer Cut Short

The smell of cut grass and dust-laden rain 
Marks the end of summer’s lazy freedom.
All season, the Bermuda grass in the schoolyard 
Struggles back to life, 
But just as it succeeds, it is mowed down.

The class lists are posted in early August.
I refuse to go look — to find out 
Who my homeroom teacher will be,
My classmates who will suffer with me — 
But the dread day keeps coming.

It is inhumane to start school before Labor Day.
The desert air is heavy 
With monsoon heat and humidity.
Autumn is distant; a solitary whisper 
In the pine-clad mountains of the Mogollon Rim.