On visiting Fort Ticonderoga 7 times so far this summer

At the risk of sounding like a folk singer on stage at a summer festival, here's a little ditty I wrote last week. My assistant and I at the art studio have been seeing mommies since late June, and she and I have decided the mommies are growing weary of summer. I dedicate this to them. Keep the faith, sisters!

The Thing About Summer

The thing about summer is,
summer is restless.
Trees hang around
waiting for something to happen.
Young boys pick and choose identities.
By day, two-sworded pirates jab
innocent village girls in the back
with inflatable weapons.
By night, brave, doomed colonial soldiers
cringe at canon fire,
charge imaginary foes
with broken twigs.

This summer, we see British regulars
around every corner,
spy painted, feathered Indians
behind every tree.
Still, summer is restless.
Mothers stop mothering,
administer care in fits and starts,
fueled by tall, plastic cups
of strong ice coffee.
Little sisters don three-corner hats
pick up wooden swords
in the cause for gold and debauchery.
They do not wait for something to happen.