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Midsummer, green leaves thick on maples / The front yard, white flowers— / Cause it’s just so beautiful now! / How sad, to be alive watching the season at its height—

Spray the lawn, it’s too hot— / Street children call, car radios play muted disco / Gray clouds umbrella brilliant sun / I used to be young once, bewildered / like that barechested little / girl across the street.

When I sit, leg over my knee / listening to the whippoorwill call of a distant ambulance / the thin tree’s little leaves startle and jump / raindrops fall thicker & the smell of ozone / wafts across the porch.

Everyone loves the rain, except those caught in their / business suits, / birds whistle, tree leaves shake excited, electric smells / rise across the City to the watchers on the balcony—

          — Allen Ginsberg