It’s crazy hot
she says, more like a cloudless August afternoon than late in a full moon evening in May. Windows up and the fans blowing and not a leaf moving in the breezeless dark. I think I’ll bathe, throw a towel or two on the bed and fall asleep still damp. Maybe that can help bring sleep.
It’s about 55 degrees here, he replies, typical roller coaster weather for this point in spring. Enjoy your bath; I hope it helps. Me, I confess I’m jealous of your tub, the water, a cloak of scented bubbles. I’m guessing I’ll be up for a while now.
4 thoughts on "It’s crazy hot"
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I enjoyed this. Looking forward to reading more of your poems this month.
Thanks, Tom!
this prose poem sets the scene & holds the tension of the cool & not so cool plus the ache of longing.
Thanks, Jim. Good to cross paths again..