the day was dragging and her feet were lagging ('i am not a poet,' she clarified.)

the humidity had reached its climax and
she only wanted the resolution
(she hoped
the ending would be
a cold shower an
episode of a show
dinner music books)

but the air, still, held its place
brevity was not its friend when it came to such things
as summer hot as winter cold
it only wished to perform the task
of speed
when it felt
the people were having
too much fun

 what an onerous job they'd set out
to make her
thighs fall
to her knees and
knees sink down to feet
which burned on sizzling asphalt

it felt dry it felt cool
she dropped down onto the grass
and let herself burn
in the uninterrupted sun

(she would
get her shower
...
later.)