By Terry Stolz

The middle of August

Hotter than Hell

Smoldering streets

Blistering heat

Humidity off the lake

Steam from the streets

Wafting into the air

It’s Chicago’s summertime


Scorching the bottoms of children’s feet

Opening fire hydrants

Looking for relief

Boys and girls running frantic

A two by four and an old truck tire

Creative minds, laughter is loud

A fountain is created

Washing away urban blight

Filling the neighborhood with delight


Chaotic bliss

A black box on a slow roll

Spinners going round

A darkened window opens

Sig Sauer, Glock 19

A staccato speech

Rap-pah tap tap, Rap-pah tap tap

A child hits the ground


She could be seven, maybe eight?

She’ll never be NINE!

Add her name to the deceased

Soon to be another, NUMBER… added to the count

Mother’s cry, Vigils gather

The Press may write, Maybe not

Does the Government Care? It seems not!

Beware… “Summertime.”