A Poem for the End of Summer

By Richard Storm

Dear Diary:
     The wealthy, pretty people are all
     at the beach, leaving the rest of us
     in an ordinary city
     with manageable streets.
     Soon they’ll be back, with
     vacation-reading book reviews
     and complaints about how
     that place has really gone off,
     filling the roads with goldenrod cabs,
     and we will know,
     truer than falling leaves,
     that summer is over.


Previously published in the New York Times