Tonight's Poet Corner: After The Heat Wave

After The Heat Wave
by Belinda Roddie

After the heat wave, the fires still grew
in rugged swaths, like a wild red beard
across a dry jawline aching for water
or sweet wine to moisten the palate.

We sat where the air was coolest, sharing
a single bottle of something strong, as
the moon turned orange from the breath
of a dragon untamed by the reins of the chariot.

Nights like these reminded me of how
I adored frost on windows, and of how,
if I was lucky, the rain would create patterns
for me to draw when the canvas lacked oil or color.

But the discomfort of summer still draped
his arm across the sky, and there was
nothing but the smoke of an angry god's cigar
while her scaly pet snored loudly in its sleep.