heat wave

the southern summer
is not personal:
the onslaught of heat
and humidity
falls on the just and
unjust the sacred
and the sweaty
gets under your skin
refusing to relent
in its drive to
depletion as you
dart from one cool
remove to the next

more afternoons than
not the swirl and stack
of clouds fills the sky
with the promise of
rain — perhaps relief —
and then delivers
the promised storm on
some and not others
it’s raining in your
lane of life’s highway
your windshield wipers
pull the water across

the glass like a rake
in a sand garden
then erase and try
again without sense
of gain or failure
the best they can do
as the flash flood steams
you like vegetables
healthy though tasteless
left limp by the heat
put in a cool place
to save for tomorrow

Peace,
Milton