Dry Dog Days

Daylight is wide-eyed, it glares like an angry samurai. We are pinned down naked to the piecing sun. It's all too exposing - the heat flays and burns. A violent light fries sunscreens, drills through sunhats while we blink under gritty lids. The humidity drains, we slouch, crouch, strain out our words. Its’ a dry dog time where doggedly nothing wags. We dream of cooling winds, of those days when a salty sweat did not dry-out our lolling tongues.