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curtains hang limp
at the front room windows
through which no breeze
has blown for days
only the sound of tires
crackling like slow-torn velcro
as cars roll sluggish
past our porch
tugging the molten tar patches
of our sizzled street
watering the roses
I see the gerbera daisies droop
panting in their porcelain pineapple pots
toasting on the withered wooden stoop
paint cracked and dry
scorched from neglect
even the silk plant on the kitchen sill
is wilted from the triple-digit heat
the glowing zeroes stare red
from the temperature display
like a pair of burning eyes
vacant as my baked brain
I bring the cool stream
from our garden hose
to quench my thirst
and moisten my parched lips
they do not smile
simmering deep in summer
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rob kistner © 2010