Tonight's Poet Corner: Indian Summer
Indian Summer
by Belinda Roddie
The heat is draining me. It pulls
the fog out of my pores, turns it into
clouds hovering over my head. I am wrung
out like the damp bandana on a pedestrian's
brow, as she carries her boa constrictor
like an unwelcome scarf across her shoulders.
I walk into the bookstore, where it's
air-conditioned, and order something
lukewarm from the café. My body wants
to rebel, but I don't let it. Outside,
the light throbs against the windows.
The glass glows like the pulse
of angels. Their wings beat
against an oppressive blue sky.
by Belinda Roddie
The heat is draining me. It pulls
the fog out of my pores, turns it into
clouds hovering over my head. I am wrung
out like the damp bandana on a pedestrian's
brow, as she carries her boa constrictor
like an unwelcome scarf across her shoulders.
I walk into the bookstore, where it's
air-conditioned, and order something
lukewarm from the café. My body wants
to rebel, but I don't let it. Outside,
the light throbs against the windows.
The glass glows like the pulse
of angels. Their wings beat
against an oppressive blue sky.
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