What truly was tapped in that rusty old fridge
Golden seeds drifting silently in a wind
Fate or luck had long abandoned propelling
Between planks of forlorn decks dryly rotting out of view
Fathers slumbering fore some next dreaded shift
Real or otherwise fading shades roughly drawn
So deeply sun burnt in August’s heat our skin flaked
Or was it July or Nero or no one who knew
Afloat pealing joy on inner tubes shot through the foot
With overloaded beebee gun compressed and depressed
By wary curious friends basking in that love
Parents of better fortune weave from certain tees and hues
From deep within through sliding aluminum prison gates wafts
A call to dance amidst the dusty mill dewed gloom
Waterfalls blaring whilst the District’s fairest sirens raring
We cease backyard battle we pause scraping the bottom’s deep Green ooze
And forget for a pregnant moment or perchance forever
The regretful fork ahead seen by each not all of our poor shoeless clan
Jeff, oh Jeffrey, where art thou now and then and when
Do you also remember, the lazy summers blues
