A September Poem

Late Summer Songs

Sitting on this dock, reading

in this late-summer light,

crickets singing, birds quiet, 

vulnerable in their annual molting--

from time to time, cicada

saws out percussive tune--

late summer, early fall, 

near the end, far from the end? who knows,

but we enjoy the slant light,

the good company, the September songs.

Bob Coughlin

September 7, 2015

[This poem was written while reading and lazing at dock A-12 in Mentor Lagoons, where my brother Jim and Barry O'Donnell keep their old boat (which used to be my boat). I finished the poem this morning.]