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Hot Irony
| Open Poetry #8 |
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Hot Irony |
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Dom Mart Member
since 1999-08-17
Posts 164Florida |
On the hottest day in summer, When the asphalt on the street Begins to feel like bread dough Puckering up around your feet, When the oil beneath your arm pit Or running down your leg Is so thick that you can spoon it off And with it fry an egg, When your underwear clings to your flesh Like a clammy, spectral hand And moisture from your body soaks Clear through the elastic band; Then you think it might be better To be dead, given half a choice, Than to step into a crowded bus And to hear the driver's voice In defeated resignation With a listless tenor say, "Step into the back please. Sorry No air-conditioning today." |
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| © Copyright 2000 Dom Mart - All Rights Reserved | |||
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brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland |
OH I hate high humidity and been sweaty and sticky. Just as well we rarely get sun here in Ireland LOL anyway really enjoyed the poem. "Death makes angels of us all and put wings where we once had shoulders, smooth as raven's wings. Jim Morrison |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Very cool Dom...or should I say very hot...when the trade winds don't blow say 15 to 20 over here in Hawaii the humidity and the heat can be miserable...oh how I love those trade winds...James |
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