A Mid-Summer's Regret

Outside the sun is bleeding over the earth—
that hot, that humid, that overstated.
I don't want to want the day to end, but I do.
The AC turns on and the dust dangling
from the filter flutters like a couple of cocoons
on a frail branch. In the spring you said
you were moving north, and then you did.
I remember the many bird squadrons that day
just before the zombies came wobbling up
over the hill and descended on us. It was
a good thing I had held onto Grandpa Charlie's
flamethrower—I had told you it would come in
handy someday. I saved our lives and now
I wish I had only saved yours and died a hero.