When I think of a single bead of sweat skydiving off the bridge of my nose, as I cross the corner of Swinton and Atlantic, all I can do is smile.
I revel in summer sweat. Maybe I should write summer all year round. Be content with soaked shirts. Let the demons lie, tell them stay put, I’ll be back for you in winter.
Dead trees? No, I conjure a blooming perennial every step I take.
My childhood was the thumb of Michigan. I rocked a flattop, wore Adidas, though all I knew of hip-hop were The Beastie Boys. Larry Bohl and I took over a small island in the woods. Teenagers brought beer, we hid in trees. Threw acorns fast as bullets. Never gave an inch. Riding bikes shoeless we grew sequoia feet, this was our national anthem.
Every so often I look at the clouds, all I see are joyous dogs.