Summer Mockingbird.
Even on Sunday, you advertise your disrespect.
In this age of diplomacy, you're a true smart mouth belting out
crazy combinations with no careful qualifiers.
A guy without administrative future,
brash, tactless, no bureaucrat.
Indifferent to our frowns, you call them as you feel them.
And when you stop, the desert stills.
Only the dove coos, the cicada throbs.
All year I wait for you, a tease I can't resist
tempting me to throw back my head
and just let the sounds slide up and out.