Hot, Hot, Heat


Hot damn!
I’m blistered and beat
while walking this street
in search of that sweet, sweet shade.
The molten concrete sticks thick
to the bottom of my shoes
and I trudge through
while stewing in my stench,
my feet fusing to this bubbling, bloating tar
beneath me.
How far can I go before I melt
and drip, drop, drain into the sewer grate?
Desperate, I eagerly reach
my salty slick hands
into someone else’s drink—
a pretentious sounding coffee—
and clutch a fistful of caffeine coated cubes.
They sacrifice their solid state
immediately upon touching my skin
and the sticky substance sizzles
while sliding down my back.
Thank you coffee cubes,
you have my utmost gratitude.
A shrinking spot of shade
behind a dumpster brings
temporary relief.
My skin shrivels
and I’m left to wonder what the perfect temperature
for eating me would be…
Probably, like, 450° or something.

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