Wilt

This piece is offered in response to the August 16th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.




Wilt

•

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

• • •

rob kistner © 2010

26 thoughts on “Wilt”

  1. My heart bleeds for you! Summer hereabouts has given way to chilly autumn already. I’ve just picked the first blackberries. You sure have a way with words: “crackling like slow-torn velcro”
    brilliant!

    1. Thank you Viv, you are always kind… today the weather is nice here in Portland, but we were “enjoying” 100 degree Oregon weather the beginning of this week…

      …rob

  2. Intense description of a somewhere I don’t wish to be. I too, wilt with this kind of heat, was really glad when you got out the hose to wet your whistle. Really imaginative use of the words in the Wordle.

    Elizabeth

  3. niceley writtten Rob…I thought it might be Wilt the Stilt poem…..ya been hot around here also….lots of forest fires…we have been lucky here…stay kewl my friend

  4. I like the first two stanzas best — the Velcro sound is a terrific image. One wants to be surprised in the oppressive heat.

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