Solstice

I wonder if the green shoots
in my garden
are the flowers
I planted last fall
or part of the milkweed
growing by the riverbank.
If it’s the flowers,
maybe they will be in
by mid July.
Milkweed, well, maybe
we’ll get butterflies.

Not the kind that sit
in my stomach.
Or the ones that get
caught in car grills.
The kind that dance
along the tree line
and brush kisses
on my childrens cheeks.

My children, it seems
would rather glue themselves
to TV screens.
Cartoon pirates and
Netflix logos
their only Summer dreams.

Uninspired by the clouds
and the watery heavens
we languish indoors
arguing over snacks
and ants
and sweat.

I sneak sips
of jack daniels
or captain and coke
only on the days
when the dogs bark
and the mail’s late,
or if the pipe
threatens to burst
behind my hay fevered eyes.

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