September

The weather vane aimed south
all month, stuck motionless
in air so warm and thick
it breathed
like someone else's air.

Now the rusted copper
creaks northwest,
toward thunderheads tall and dark,
as if all of Summer
got squeezed
into a fat black lip
bleeding rain ahead of Fall.

Before a wall of midnight
spiked with lightning,
beneath a green sky feathered gray,
I dance in anticipation
and clap my hands
with glee.

Scott Speck
09/01/01