That Last Month

Each quiet chaos of vague
Possibility slipped by,
Taking more summer along,

Day by day and hour by hour,
Slowly, languidly even,
Hot and sunny and lovely

And done, a part of the past.
She began to stay up late,
Then later, napping at noon.

She complained they were losing
The last of their year away,
Their magical year away.

The more she felt the approach
Of the day they’d head back south,
The harder it was for her

To make anything of now,
This day, this hour. She drank beer,
Got weed from the neighbor, napped,

And stayed up most of the night,
Reading and watching the moths.
Nothing happened, nothing much.