Hot

Leaves hang limp outside my door. Mountains dissolve in murk. Air clogs in straining throats. Life crawls in sodden heat, while the laughing sun turns Fahrenheit degrees, tighter,like a vice; and a watched sun never sets. As evening creeps upon us, the vice reluctantly loosens, giving in a bit, first under thirsty trees, then the shaded road, and for a little while, we sleep. But the smog is mostly gone, having lost its fifties hold. The globe is warming, scientists say, and if they’re right, the children pay.