Ain't nothing we can do about the heat...

This little writing goes back to a summer that I remember in New York City that was just exceptional in its sweltering heat and humidity. I would remember having a suit on and by the time that I got to and from different appointments I was just soaked through with perspiration. My little tribute to New York's heat;


HEAT

Slow,
slow summer’s
heat hangs...
hangs,
like the tired, orphaned child
lumped,
slumped
on the woman’s slouching back.

She lingers, ...
lingers long,
long
into the day; draws–
draws pores of sweat.

New York’s humid, August character
claws,
claws like the lean, hungry, black
back-alley cat
hunting for its prey.

Through the swelter
the cries,
the cries,
fly,
fly through the deep thick of night–
no rest in sight...

A harlot’s baby, sleepless plight,
sleepless,
in this asphalt jungle’s slow,
slow summer’s
slow,
seething heat...