During this summer, bales of hay explode,
crops scorch, livestock are slaughtered early.
We shuffle through grocery stores. Limp
lettuce, mushy tomatoes languish on counters.
Prices rise inexorably when we drive to
gas stations where fumes fill our nostrils.
My throat is dry and coated with metallic taste.
I guzzle a bottle of ice tea, saccharine sweet.
Our town park floods with children spilling over
brown grass, their shouts cutting the air.
Laundry comes out piping hot from
the dryer, zippers burning my fingers.
Clumps of wrinkled clothes wobble on chairs.
Unopened mail and dust cover my table.
A rayon nightgown sticks to my skin as
fans push warm air brushing my face.
The shrill of cicadas drown the night.
I wait now to melt into dark oblivion.