August

Powerboat backs from the quay impatiently
Low and sleek, loud and obnoxious
It's green and pink hull glistening
As it roars upstream madly
Exhaust blatting disturbs the humid stillness

Running from the moist oppressive air
Temporary comfort in the middle of misery
An escape from the worries of today
And the nameless fears of tommorow
Slashing the water, as the very air drips of it

Impossible to overcome the moist grip
August hangs upon us, like a dazed prizefighter
Unwilling to release us for fear of dishonor
Cool breezes blow only as a portent
Precursor of violent storms in the offing

The brisk kiss of September seems distant
Crisp air and mellow sunlight anticipated
As humidity gives way to cool gusts from the north
September seems far in the distance
As we are held in the stagnant pool of August