|
| |
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.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
|
|