106F-41C, by Michael Livingston Frisbie

August, uninhabitable,

its sun like an  

ugly stepfather 

beating down on you –

ugly August,  

the Drunken Rage! 

August the Incorrigible

sticky like the tar 

that melts 

on the old railroad ties

piled behind the 

woodshed. 

Fever-fed August, 

nourished by all 

the little sunstrokes 

the pretty ladies  

give you, 

never once coming  

to terms with how  

they despise you. 

August the Madman 

raving, spewing 

profanity, August 

the Profane, 

August the Malady, 

August, the auditory  

hallucination that drives

the schizophrenic hobos

into an amphetamine frenzy.

August, unintelligible August,

you senile, 

don’t you know? 

Don’t you know 

we are all waiting for you

to die 

so we may 

drag your steaming carcass

into September?

About the author:

Michael Livingston Frisbie is a recent alum of Missouri State University with a B.S. in Entrepreneurship. When not at his typewriter, he enjoys playing chess, drinking coffee, and walking in the woods. He lives in Springfield, Missouri with his wife. Learn more about his writing on Instagram @michael.frisbie.writer.