Back to School Sale

here's one I'm working on....

Back to School Sale

May is the girlfriend your mother described.
She’s the first one to read your screenplay.
She’s the wheat grass colonic your naturopath prescribed.
She’d motivate the Fall and score the Winter to Green Day.

June is the hometown quarterback hero.
He beat non-Hodgkin’s, and endorses hybrids.
He lends you a fiver, though you owe him a c-note.
He tips at the carwash and plays the lute for sick kids.

July is the wise and well-equipped neighbour.
He’s got extra insecticide and immaculate eavestroughs.
He tutored your kid when you couldn’t help her
and of course you can borrow his skill saw.

August is the neglected youngest child,
born to a guess-I’m-not-menopausal mother.
It ketchups the drapes and flushes your iPod.
It toasts the cat’s tail and scares off the plumber.

It’s a month-long procession of lengthening nights,
an unfun funeral march till Labour Day dies.

August is the most depressing month.
It’s crushed Oreos in your lunch bag.
soap bubbles in your snow cone.

Shortly after August freight hops into town,
July, almost a postcard, its festivals vistas,
is found drowned facedown in grape slushie.

June’s new bloomed exuberance is gone,
sweat-bleached into a swelter on field turf
and infields and grasses around statues.

May is the waitress you fantasize about
as August takes you from behind,
steam pooling on the locker room tiles.

August is a month-long vigil of lengthening nights
until mercury learns mercy and Labour Day dies.

***
I don't know what the ponit of the poem is, really... Where the speaker's animosity towards the month comes from. Maybe that's the point.
I think I was inspired by the ultra depressive feeling I used to get as a kid jsut before the school year started. But I don't think I kept that in mind while writing. Ah well.