Apricot Summer

These quiet days of no daily commute
These days of resting on the sunlit lawn
Of waking unalarmed in summer dawn
Of baking every kind of summer fruit

Of families masked to picnic in the park
Of bus seats sealed against adjacent use
Of shocked statistics rolling in the news
Of close, re-open, spike, high-water mark

Of gas and flash-bang fired in the dark
Of dark skin figured with still darker bruise
Of leaves whose shadows hide a shadow noose
Of tindered anger waiting for a spark

These days of summer slowly turning hot
These days of rage and grace and apricots.

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