Hot, Sweet, Sweltering, July

Hot, sweet, sweltering July When all you can hear are distant hummings Of inside fans and flies incessant drumming Fans rattling inside, flies outside amongst the grasses. Time seems to stand so very still. Just the act of breathing Leaves some beaded sweated tears Some tiny drops of condensation Along the hollows of your breasts And the hollows of your mind's years. There is no place to escape to This heat hangs like a canopy Impenetrable to any cool winds Like the heaviest of parlor drapes All winds are captive, within a coffin held. Even the whitest of whites Can do nothing to repel against this heat And even the lightest of T-shirts Leaves one desiring to wear much less To be bare and wear nothing at all would be One's preferred exotic and chosen dress. The low hum of the box fans And the ceiling fans in the sky A reminder that there is some belief That they might move a bit of air To gain some temporary relief. Strategically placed for battle Against this stagnant heat Their whirling blades end up doing nothing But acting as hopeful placebos Against this hot, sweet, sweltering July. (January 27, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin) (c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved