August

The sprinkler twirls.

The summer wanes.

The pavement wears

Popsicle Stains.

The Playground grass

Is worn to dust.

The weary swings

Creak, creak with rust.

The trees are bored

With being green.

Some people leave

The local scene.

And go to seaside

Bungalows

And take off nearly

All their clothes.

by John Updike

The kids love me to read this poem to them in the mornings just before math. The picture is of Ben and Louisa's dear friend Beau pulling Libby, notice how she's sucking her fingers.