The Sun Being Bad
In 2026, summer started in mid-May. School didn’t get out early or anything, but the sun came ready to bake, shake, and quiver To take our winter’s water back to the moon. It was 90 in mid-May, but then it snowed again, with tears With sleet, with despair, and mother tried to kill us. She’ll say she didn’t and she burned the books that told us this, the diaries, saying I cannot mother anymore, I’ll bake them in the oven, in some forest, in some cabin, decorated with candy. I’ll throw them off the Sears tower once and for all. Right down on Chicago Avenue, splat, in front of Robert's Shoes where I got my first Converse, black high-tops, fitted properly, with dad. And 1988 was one of my last with dad before he turned on me instead of his wife, whom he feared, whereas me, he snickered at. Even you fear the sun. In 1988, summer was still arriving on time as per the old norms, and we went shopping. Goodbye mom and dad, goodbye Robert's Shoes, goodbye Chicago Avenue, fare thee well, 1988. Goodbye Earth and solar system. I’m sorry, but we’re early and unpredictable. And now it’s shooting stars and flashing lights. It was 90 in mid-May, but then it snowed again, with tears With sleet, with despair, when our parents tried to kill us.