A new poem by Jason Heroux

Museum of Summer Months

Summer thoughts, flower petals
lie on the ground, expired coupons
clipped from the garden’s flyer.

Sunlight inspects each window,
an airport dog sniffing suitcases.

Clouds sit motionless in the sky
like cars after an accident
waiting for the police to arrive.

At noon our shadows shorten,
dark trains pulling into their stations.
A butterfly interrupts the air’s program
with a commercial for the here and now.