On the hottest day of the year,
so far,
the power went off
with a thud and a dying
of the humming air.

The fan blades slowly
spun themselves out —
a blur turning clockwise
from the ceiling stopped.

Even the small box fan, loudest of all,
ceased it’s incessant hum.
A paperback copy of Dante’s
Inferno had kept it from sliding
across the floor.
Bloody irony, don’t  you think?

Three thousand other houses
on the outage map lit up
a bright orange. The whirling
hum smothered everywhere. 

We sat for half an hour,
trying not to stir, the air
growing warmer in silence.
A small penitence for
being alive.