Poem: Humid Day

 

Humid Day

 

air crowds us hapless animals,

vast puffy abdomen

of spongy muscle.

 

can’t breathe,

such wet, bluff heat

height of hulking graves,

 

oppressive

tepid slimy merger

of water and ground.

can’t move,

stuck in stride,

enough to stop mice,

 

and the feet of birds,

in this quicklime of oxygen,

caught.

are we not half-strangled

from a slick cellophane 

of soggy atmosphere?

 

the roses in the garden 

just bloated redcoats

bled, bled, bled

to die in motionless war.

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4/19/26 zillions of eds 

9/14/25 .. changed last line

6/24/24...

9/4  "to die" ...