Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Poetry Tuesday: "How Hot Is It?"
[We're deep in the steamy thick of summer here in NYC. Yesterday, I found myself home from work, sticky and cranky, eating butterscotch chips out of the freezer while all the fans in the house whirred at top speed. I was suddenly reminded of the first line of a poem I wrote in college, a little over ten years ago (during the month of January, oddly enough). Allow me...]
so hot the sunlight is wet - he, limp,
a rooftop landmark; turn left at the sunbather
from 3C-heavy head,
masses of hair groundcover pale flesh
He is his own roof garden.
moist ripeness, dewed with sweat.
sodden melted sugars, pinkwhite fat
sopping starch, matted hair and tarpish skin
Nothing sprouts here, where this mess lies
Supine out of soil
Green plastic weave of lawn-chair raft
floats, mildewed, in that sun.