There are few sounds so grand
and that of a hot dog splitting its casing
as it heats on the grill.
Even as a vegetarian, I missed hot dogs.
And yes, I know what we don't know what's in them
and yes, I know the barbarism of eating them
But do you know something?
It is a perfect summer evening
I am leaning over the grill
and the afternoons are long and hot.
I have one glass of pink lemonade, and, I swear,
it is sweating more than I am.
It is a perfect summer day
and this is my last summer, really;
next year it's college,
and then work and a family
and all those grown up things
and by the time I can really enjoy a summer day again
is when I am weathered and bent
and can't leap spryly at the chance.
So I will eat my hot dogs
and my coke-cola
and everything that I am already nervous of,
and I will slide down the waterfalls at Fall Run park,
and talk to my beau until four in the morning,
and throw parties with my friends around the camp fires,
and go to plays, and base ball games, and concerts.
I will do it all and more
and revel in the sound
of snapping hot dog cases.