Why the End of Summer is the Saddest Time of Year

“Summer’s Promise”

I work in the arctic.

This carpet a barren tundra, my colleagues like well-dressed penguins.

The air condition has chilled me below zero.

Icicles snap off my ears, fingers, nose.

I freeze.

Shut down.

Til five.

I leap from my swivel chair and blaze through the hallways.

Sounds good! See ya tomorrow! Have a good night!

Almost there, I gaze upon the promise past the window,

An embrace warm enough to thaw the workday’s frost.

I clench the doorway, fire through!

And extinguish.

Summer’s promise is broken.

I can only wrap my arms around myself,

And consider Florida.


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