In hot summer heat in August and May salty beads of water gathered in play on hot heated bodies to vanish away. Happened so fast some just gathered and pooled then took crooked rides to unknown places marking their lives by salty wet traces. Despite the sweat that cools in cool breezes it couldn’t cool heat that August heat teases. The heat that played played all day and wouldn’t cool down til’ August loved May.
Poem by Darryl Z. Oates