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.