Jane A. Rug

Ah...bethinks of those carefree daze
going barefoot and

shirtless atop the attic roof

at 324 Level Road, 
Collegeville, Pennsylvania,
when no amount 
of ransom could release
body, mind and spirit of mine
when (during the summer solstice)
that ball of fire distant from the Earth
at roughly 94.5 million miles
(about 152 million

kilometers) from the Sun.
Interestingly enough, because
Earth’s orbit an ellipse
rather than a perfect circle,
Homo sapiens sapiens actually
farthest from the Sun during summer
in the Northern Hemisphere
(a point called aphelion in early July).

The four seasons courtesy
(the tony Antonio Vivaldi
would probably not be written)
without the 23.5-degree tilt
of the Earth's axis,
not where logic might dictate
our distance from the Sun.

Twas only approximately
twenty six weeks ago
or thereabouts when yours truly
blue and frost bitten in the face,
head, shoulders, knees and toes.

Midwinter night dream filled
with balm of June solstice rays
lackadaisical and care-free
months of ideal time
to while away
pronounced illuminated days
outdoor sports a favorite choice
that occupies athletic population
which venues witness frequent
surge and spill of overtime plays

during final seconds
winning touch down,
home run, opposing team player
outwitting goalie, et cetera

another popular milieu
favorable climate awakens
constitutes habitués vacationers
visit ashore popular waterways
beachfront shoreline inundated
by mass exodus of sun worshippers
tidal seaboard awash
along every square inch
human species splashes to keep
cool within ocean and bays.

Six months ago bitter cold
and dark snow filled skies
wrought undeserved vengeance
viewed from these eye
who after each
and every major winter storm
donned proper attire
to stay warm outside
while clearing walkway
with shovel in hand
executed repetitive motion
akin to how boater plies
similar (yet reversed)

bodily swing of arms rise

now readily prepares for execution
of most difficult seasonal task
requires usage of 
most complex muscle

the source of poetry witty and wise.

Aside from population surge
which shows no signs of ebbing
for shore and seven years ago
flotsam and jetsam
comprising the sea of humanity
presents chiseled physiques,
where the women sport
Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie
Yellow Polkadot string Bikini
as chic chick bait
while the men
(including conservatively dressed
Norwegian bachelor farmers
sharing freshly baked

powder milk biscuits), nevertheless

yield to their divining rod
toward scantily clad
which guarantees proliferation
of genus and species
as told to be fruitful and multiply
iterated in countless sacred texts
despite the limited
space and resources
(as more people
live cheek to jowl)
doth not trump
overwhelming biological urge
to pay due diligence
appeasing goddesses and gods
of fertility and reproduction

and surrender toward
lengthening the human
spunky chain gang,
which if if everyone on Earth
linked hands (based
on a global population
of approximately 8 billion),
the chain would stretch
for about 7.5 million miles
(roughly 12 million kilometers),
which premise assumes
an average armspan
and buffer space
of about 5 feet
(1.5 meters) per person.