here comes a routine, with a bag full of weather complaints, which are more of "ah, it's already summer" statements, and less of complaints. //My Summer Poem// here comes a routine of squinting at the sky and heaving loaded sighs, counting and debating on how many Suns are hanging high up there, with straws in their mouths, slurping and panting. here comes a routine of loaded eyes and blurred visions,
