The July heat has burned
the grass to pale, dry straw
It crackles
as we step
scratching our ankles
pricking our toes
Sweat stung eyes squint
at the air
the heat
a palpable presence
stubborn and lazy
Even the dog stays
inside
Too hot
to fight properly
we gnaw on eachother's words
choking on the chalky dust of
resentment
waiting for petrichor.
submitted for Thursday Think Tank, 59 Grass, at Poets United
