It’s so fucking HOT.
I can’t think of a more clever
replacement for fucking.
Can’t even string together as many thoughts
as beads of sweat pelt the ground
falling from my forehead, elbows, and belly
onto the sidewalk where they barely
turn from a shadow to a spot
before boiling into nothingness.
I thought I might remove my shirt-
more surface area to evaporate
the sweat. My body’s feeble attempt at cooling
an umbrella in a nuclear firestorm.
The air is so thick and pregnant with water
it can scarcely accept any more.
It’s a hazy fog that obscures both
vision and breathing. Drenching all things
yet not at all hydrating.
May and early June
lulled us all into a false sense of safety. Zeus
taking a break from philandering
to orchestrate the rainiest May in memory
before some scantily clad sorority socialite
on her last summer before real life
drew him away from his duties,
back into a stupor.
Soon Hephaestus fired back up his forge
and sent his exhaust and offal
down towards us mere mortals.
Boiling us all alive, to keep the industry moving.
It’s so
            fucking
                          H
                              O
                                  T

I don’t even remember what I was doing.