Eventually, This Summer Has to End

Your face is peach
and you don’t have to do
this
My voice has been under its own
water
for a long time
I don’t know if I remember about the
rockets, how it is we bring them home,
or the collapsed lungs,
how to reinflate
like a balloon
skirting the lakefront,
wasteful and deadly,
though people cheer anyway,
up against the sun.

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