Sestina for Summer, 1994

by Joseph McCombs

"It rained, and it rained, and it rained, and it rained all summer;
it rained, and it rained, and it rained, and it rained all night." --
So I was reminded by my old alarm-clock radio,
the one I listened to every night while writing poetry
and song lyrics for a trusted friend
in an age of uninhibited wonder.

1994 was a wonder-
ful time, spending an entire summer
with no one that I couldn't call "friend."
We were together, nearly every night,
celebrating the discovery of a new poetry
as Morrison and Dylan blared from a portable radio.

"Someday my songs will be on the radio,"
I always insisted, refusing to wonder
what would happen if my attempts at poetry
would prove to have a shelf-life shorter than a summer.
The words dripped from my pen every night
like a daily syrup gathering, each song a new friend

of sorts. And a song can indeed be a friend
when your childhood companion was always the radio.
But the star-void skies of warm June nights
with you, were a new kind of wonder.
Blind badminton and beer all summer
long, and everywhere, there was poetry.

Even morning storms and fast-food litter are a poetry
of life, when around each corner, a friend
reminds you of a day in the summer
and you feel like singing along with the radio.
That said, it is no little wonder
that I should look back this late spring night

with a winsome smile. And on such a night
when I think these dreams through in poetry,
I still get excited, and get to wonder
if I'll share the joy in the sight of a friend
when my song comes on the radio
in the middle of a rain-ravaged night in the summer.

     This poetry is for you, my friend.
     And the jolt of the radio reminds me how wonder-
     ful it will be to reunite, some night, with you in a San Franciscan summer.

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