Why I'll Miss Summer.

I sat in the sand, admiring the beach
And all of life's glories that come to it.
My wandering eye caught the glimpse
Of one of California's great treasures

Gliding past me,
Man, that ass did sway.

It swayed like a palm tree in a cool breeze,
It swung like some low, heavy jazz,
In a dark, candle lit corner
Of a city block, men in buttoned shirts
Women in low-cut, slimming black dress.
Their own asses grooving
In leather-skinned booths,
Filled with laughs, craving cigarettes,
Craving more gin.

Man, what an ass.

But she never looked back.
Probably for the best.
She would never see the great John Ellis Ranger,
Not the musician, poet, conqueror of the world.
No.
Just a dog, wide-eyed and grinning like an idiot.