Texas Summer

Each day the thermometer in the car
reaches the depths of hell.

Each night we bow before lightning
and thunder; pray they will bring rain.

The streets have a shambled look—
trash-strewn and windblown,

the air remains thick and sultry
with fever. We have to crack this code.

We drink in coolness where we can,
ignore the stench of mold and sweat,

watch the bent necks of flowers
as they fail to reach for the wicked sun.

Thirty-four days until blessed autumn,
the scent of flooding rains—desire fulfilled.