The Lammas Men come jumping, bumping.
Booming and zooming, the Lammas Men.
Sparks in the sky, peaking, then streaking
To dark again, know the Lammas Men.
The Lammas Men from late July
Grasp summer as tight as ever they can
With opposable thumbs, cruising and boozing,
When sunset comes to the asphalt night.
And the Lammas Men are certain they
Might make the hot sweet summer stay,
If they put up a fight.

The Lammas Men with shiny cards
Are all twenty-one, and proudly exempt
From hastening fall and narrowing day,
And the corn is sweet in the southering sun,
And the stalks are tall, though leaves display
Heavy and dusty, beetled and galled,
Their edges rusty. And summer’s looking
A little unkempt but the Lammas Men
Make a valiant attempt, in mobs, to throbs
Of drum and bass, to stand their ground
Or mark their pace.

The Lammas Men catcall and brawl
Near dark, for a lark, rolling ambered with cheer.
And the Lammas Men lay a rough black arc,
And then another, of rubbery squeals,
To evening’s finale, from dirt road to alley,
The spray can, the ball bat, the downed mailbox tally,
With wagers and dares, and boasts and appeals,
And trying on death just to see how it feels.
And the Lammas Men’s jibes as the katydids call
Are the dialogues of the alpha dogs
Saying, Summer will always, will always be all!


Copyright Briar Rose 2008


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