In the company of women and laughter

The Ides Of July

Already the sun is half extinguished and
the fiery oaths of relentless snow, long
forgotten. Invectives sworn at stubborn ice
in the bitterness of such seasons, curl
and wither before the ardent flame of this July.

This morning sky is cast out like shaman bones,
flung in knurled clouds that augur the perish
of a summer about to pass its given prime.
And I feel the hours, the days, leak from me
like a sweated glass of brimming arctic beer.

So today, I will console myself. I will
imagine this afternoon in the company of
women and laughter, chiming fragrance
trailing the air in their wake as they lean
and career into the giddy spaces that open
to their nearing. I will pretend them a
sugaring balm for the smartings of my worry,
tender sanctuary for absent wander. I will
shelter with deeping moonfish as they dream
in the coy lagoons of their willing laps.

July will not remember me. I know this. August will
arrive and July herself will slip into unremembering.
So this is my only chance to be known, this
day, any day that may survive all I never will.

Joseph Gallo
July 15, 2004