The Music Of the Month

Not summer, yet

summer.

Indian, they call it,

as if the sun were

a huge drum,

and the smoke signals

of backyard barbecues

spelled "Come."

The magnetic bells

of the ice-cream truck,

the refined chimes

of ice in drinks,

the air conditioner's

heavy hum....

This is the music

the month broadcasts,

tolling its moment,

pulsing in the heat,

sweet as the last red plum.