by Kevin T McEneaney
When it’s too darn hot to do anything,
even think about what could, should, be done,
then one might doze off in the brutal heat,
only to awake ten minutes later
bathed in sour, sticky aura of sweat.
Humidity reduces one’s pulse and brain
to the level of a cranky monkey
drowning in luxurious self-pity.
Even the chanticleer chimes bead with sweat.
Yet when sunset and cooling breeze arrives,
a cold glass of wine or pink lemonade
will revive heart and brain into wonder,
wonder about the life of birds, insects,
and memories of childhood, star-lit skies.
