The sun builds up to the heat of a
Hot afternoon.
The air hangs still and heavy,
And sweat beads and runs incessantly
Down your forehead.
The dog down the street lies still in the shade,
Tongue lolling out; panting.
You take a sip of your tea or lemonade
And set it back down carefully on the cool
Front porch.
If you could just get up the energy,
You'd go swimming.
But it's so much easier thinking
Than doing.
Several small children pass you by,
And you wonder where they get their
Energy?
They all run inside, shouting, jostling,
And laughing.
The screen bangs shut with false determination
And the quiet pervades.
Occasionally you brush away madly at the
Fly
So near to your face.
The door opens once more and the children
Come outside;
Eating the ice-cream that was given to them.
Some of them dawdle and tarry; and the
Ice-cream melts and
Dribbles down their chins and onto their shirts and
Hands.
They don't seem to notice the heat
As a friendly game of tag
Gets started,
Their shouts dispelling thei quiet of the day.
You watch them; amusedly content with their
Exuberant happiness at the game.
Your eyes wander as
You slip
Back into your reverie:
"So many things could be accomplished
On a day such as this,
But many of the thoughts
Come to naught."
The heat is oppressive.
Making you wish for the tingling shock
Of plunging into deliciously cool water,
Or snow.
The day wears on and finishes
While the heat seems ever determined
To stay.
Late into the night you wander and walk,
A feeling of desolate lonliness erodes away
At your heart.
As many cars pass you by in the
Warm darkness.
You find yourself at destinations unknowingly;
Yet, still aware of the fact that it was you who decided to
Go there.
Return slowly home through the ever pervasive, dark heat,
And drift into sleeping dreams of prophesy
Where always the memory of time-after-day
Lies lurking.
01-22-1978


Salon.com
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