August's Secret

It was a secret, August promised me,
But when he shared it, I got pretty sore,
Because it was all stuff I knew before,
But he kept saying, "Only you and me,
That's all that knows about this, don't you see?
Why scowl like that?" I could say, "I deplore
Your confidence, your cynicism, more –
The way you smirk, you anaerobic spore,"
But I just smile instead, quite silently.

It was the month of August, ending then,
And cooler days and nights were on the way:
Cold afternoons of rain, skies dark and grey,
And August, leaving, one more denizen
Of seasons in the past. I drop my pen,
Remembering something I had to say.