By: Courtney Caswell-Peyton

The 90 days of Summer
Start technically in May
But, June 21rst, the number
Of this season’s “real” first day.
The longest day, it stretches—
One hour more is saved.
The Solstice celebration–
Is christened with a parade.
It’s when the sun’s scorching rises
Glare nighttime into day.
It’s when the hot and humid weather
Lingers, just to stay.
It’s when the cool, dancing water
Crashes the shore with waves–
It’s when unruly, playful children
Don’t have to behave.
It seems that school is out forever
Vacations, all away—
To honor our forefathers
On June 14th—
Flag Day.

The 90 Days of Summer
One month more—July
We save up for firecrackers
And watch overhead sparks fly.
We pay tribute to our nation
An independent mass—
And on our way to picnics,
Our cars run out of gas!
Sitting atop beach blankets
In front of a tasty spread–
Our heart’s desires spotted
Make us dizzy in our heads!
Bolt up to get attention,
Streak across the sand,
Soon, one lonely walker
Becomes two lovers holding hands.
Off they run, all floaty
Their minds blissful and adrift.
We might see them on the beach later,
Running grunion, abalone,
Or wading with the fish!
Soon, moonlight casts a shadow,
On the people watching near—
To kiss in front of others,
Bashful—none should leer.
Impossible affections
Inappropriate ‘til clear.
Besides, July is almost over
August is drawing near.
And then September will be looming
Meaning the start of a new school year!

The 90 days of Summer
With only August left,
I’d like to make the best
Of the last 30 days I’ll spend.
I could sun tan on my rooftop,
Or go for a sail in a boat
Yet the chances of that likely
Seem awfully remote.
With September fast approaching,
There’s so much work to do
I’ve got to pre-pack my lunches
And buy pens and pencils, too!
Maybe in the midst
Of August’s buggy, muggy heat
I’ll stop my frantic labor
And take a short stroll down my street.
On the right day if I’m lucky,
The fair will be in town
I’ll get hot dogs and cotton candy
And paint on my face a clown.
Then, at least I’ll know I’m ready
For September’s grade let down.
In every year that’s been,
When Summer’s 90 closes,
It’s me my classmates crown
Class clown; I’m aptly chosen!

Courtney is a Santa Barbara local and a talented writer. She is currently on the streets and continues to write beautifully. Thanks, Courtney, for your contribution.