I used to think that summer was mean
A hot, sticky, mosquito-ridden season
With no reason to be here but to annoy me.
Maybe just because Michigan, but who knows.
I stuffed these discontentments in the back of my mind
As the summer began,
Letting them float to the surface on parade days.

Then after one of those torrential July rainstorms
Where the water falls straight down unless pushed by the wind
And thunder crackles with a static energy
I realized that as spring was clean
And as fall was crisp
And as winter was bracing
Summer was the only season
That I could sit on a blanket on a lawn
Bottle of Coke in hand
Watching a movie with friends.