Was That Summer
Was that summer, when all things were new,
And the world offered a softer view.
Days were sunny, more often than not,
And learning was not formally taught.
Happened to be an old innertube,
Big and well patched, at the tire and lube.
He rolled it freely down to the lake,
A first impression, perhaps, to make.
Whether or not caused by weather,
They found themselves, again, together.
Floating out into afternoon heat,
Where could not touch the sand with their feet.
And drifting there in cool waters deep,
They shared secrets they both still keep.
Was that summer when all things were new,
And the best stories were mostly true.
Finding me here sat down on this sand,
Beached yet again where sea meets the land.
No volleyball, no in the sun fun.
Why ruin a thought so well begun?
Not overwhelmed with plans for a day.
Discover some Frost or Hemingway.
Sea shell necklace and freshly cut jeans,
Palm trees stretch toward sky, crisp blues and greens.
Sink the schedules, and cast away clocks.
Button less. Keep the shoes, lose the socks.
Sweet breeze filters the island’s sound.
Small, couple hours to walk around.
Fewer questions, less answers to seek.
Fly in supplies each other the week.
Finding me here sat down on this sand.
Umbrellas, cocktails, isn’t life grand?
M.T. Jamieson lives with his wife, Susan, and their dog and two cats in northeastern Ohio. He is a Viet Nam Era U.S.A.F. veteran, and twice a former university student. Some of his poems have appeared in “WestWard Quarterly,” “Pancakes In Heaven,” “Northern Stars Magazine,” “The Poet’s Art,” “The Poetry Explosion Newsletter,” “the Lyric,” “Adelaide Literary Magazine,” “Evening Street Press,” “The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review,” and “Scarlet Leaf Review.”