the jars return to the counter,
coconut, raisins, pasta and teas
that are banished in summer
so it’s easy to wipe up,
a necessity to control the ants.
The honey emerges from the frig
fluid in the spoon again,
the syrup and oils as well.
Summer is an oppressive task,
but autumn brings more sadness
than relief,
knowing the year is running out,
while the weariness hangs on
of things done again and again.