July, I Forgive You
...and August and June, for that matter, when, seared like a rack of ribs over mesquite charcoal, we broiled and boiled and melted like a stick of butter on the kitchen counter, oil oozing from the solids. We slathered our gullets with endless fluids: lemonade, beer, cider, club soda. "Water water cool clear water" always in hand, never enough
Now we have you, September. Thank you.