it’s hot out
a ripe ninety-three I keep a window open- just gets hotter. the ice cream moans down the cracking street: little ones run and trip past an open window- and it’s hot out. I don’t know how to cool chew an ice cube maybe I think of our cool spring running down the roaring, rain showering street I turn to her she smiles, she wipes the rain off my rained-on cheeks in the ice cream shop. sitting in that misty night while we watch that rain patter, with our misty eyes in our cool spring. but it’s hot out. |