When the heat comes, it falls
Just like a heavy tablecloth
Folding into little rivulets and sloppy waves.
But instead of landing on glossy wood
And billowing slightly under the chink of glass and china
Instead of rustling to the hum of pleasant conversation
The heat sinks into the rough, scarred road
Into the rough, scarred c
Into the rough, scarred people.
The heat pours into their throats and ears.
It fills their lungs with a smothering staleness.
The heat blots out the conscientiousness
That made billy pick up the litter
That kept tracy from slamming the door.
Under heat, the lightness is lethargy
The buckled-up discontent bursts
And the delicate brain-curves unravel.