The wind chimes are melting, The ponds are sweltering, The roads run like black tea; The flags aren't waving, Sheets aren't sailing, The grass looks like gold wheat. The beaches have more bodies Than Juno did in June; The dogs aren't barking, But the kids are laughing, Their joy's not lost on me.
I should go to the banks Of the St. Clair River, Where the current cools Beneath the bridges; Read the names on the Huron freighters Carrying coal and oil; Eat tasty dogs and greasy fries, The northern breeze there never dies.
I should hover like a dragonfly, Applaud the divers hot ******* chances, In the dog days of their youth.