Cold July

A surprisingly unhappy poem I wrote last summer when I was surprisingly happy, shortly after I moved to SF.

Cold July

Fog trundles in all around
Closely packed buildings
Like cattle in a feed lot
Roosted on humpbacked hills
Disappear in the cloud
A ribbon of blue is visible
Due west, thinly veiled
Watch as it vanishes
The air weeps with gray
Like and infected wound
Swollen beyond recognition
Seagulls lunge in and out
Like the flies in this apartment
The swarms in the basement
I haven't seen the sun in days

—Adrienne McKay 2009