push coconut sunscreen to back of cabinet; take last whiff;
scrub racks, hose down barbecue, roll into garage, cover;
stand naked in the rain, conduct thunder and lightning;
pack cotton dresses, store sandals, stow straw purse;
pull dying flowers, rake ground, clean flowerpots, cry;
peel off linen slipcovers, send them to drycleaners;
clean picnic basket, wash red-checked tablecloth;
eat final sun-warmed tomato and Bing cherries;
whisper goodbye to fireflies, crickets, lizards;
remove window screens, repair holes, weep;
take off wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses;
unplug cord, put away ice cream machine;
curse Persephone and pomegranates;
close windows, turn off fan; whimper;
stare directly into amethyst sunset;
tug the drapes, shut the blinds
flick off the lights, wither;
fold myself inside
myself and
wait.