You’ve read Michael Lee Johnson’s poems Mother, Edith, at 98 and Nikki Purrs, and you’ll find this to be a very different poem. It is seasonal, of course, it’s descriptive, it’s transportive. Maybe if we read this in a winter storm, we’ll find ourselves translocated to a beautiful beach.
California Summer
By Michael Lee Johnson
Coastal warm breeze
off Santa Monica, California
the sun turns salt
shaker upside down
and it rains white smog, humid mist.
No thunder, no lightning,
nothing else to do
except sashay
forward into liquid
and swim
into eternal days
like this.
Sounds like heaven.
It sure does sound wonderful!
Beautiful!
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