Heat Poem by John Rickell
Heat
The air is heavy on my lungs,
white heat frightens, platinum not gold,
where was warmth, a cruel shaft.
The bird bath beside the wilting rose
tide-marks and whitening crystals.
I walk slow to ease my limbs seek shelter,
throw off my clothes,
an afternoon of sweat and drink
my hair limp, not a muscle 'wake
sagging in the chair, unpleasant, its plastic-wet.
birds panting in the ivy.
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4/19/2024 4:44:01 AM # 1.0.0.1119
