Summertime Verse — 2

O Purple Jenny!Where did you go? My friends tell me that summer started long ago. But it hasn't. You and I both know that summer doesn't begin until you decide to return to our pool. Sure, when I say "our," I mean "belonging to the entire apartment complex, even the old ladies who shouldn't go swimming that often or wear sleeveless T-shirts, which is just unsettling." But my backdoor opens onto a small worthless patio that then opens onto the pool and that's where you always used to be: Laying out on summer afternoons, swimming in the valley's own heat, wearing that purple two-piece forged from God's own designs. Where did you go? We — my roommate and I — we think you used to live with Jorge, this guy we knew through a friend. We're pretty sure you two were roommates in a nonsexual way. Or at least that's what we told ourselves. Not that it mattered. But you were still part and parcel of the summers here, a young and pleasing sign of the changing seasons, a memory from our first real days here. We haven't seen you all year, and we realize that you probably moved out. But baby, you can always come back home.