On a Summer Afternoon in Austin

 

 

 

 

 

Sweltering heat, shifting shadows, slithering
ripples cross tarry roads; my heel sinks into
the asphalt, the solidity of my traveler’s path
sunken now, as I swim through the

airless heat. All of us panting, dry, tripping lightly,
the pads of our feet playing hot potato with
the street beneath. But we need to run, we need
to smell the sweat of us and others who

are bold enough to brave this newness.
This apocalyptic energy that is our future.

Postscript: 105 is the new 90.