it is summer
the oracle of screeching heat
we stretch out below the fiery skies, while people in shorts, sandals and summer dresses stroll by
this heat is known all over the world, I say
and you smile and respond with a hint of laughter, what if all the leaders of the world, feared by many, appeared at once in the same summer dress? the pale, wrinkly, old and dry skin exposed to the public.
i let the earth’s breath sweep across my face, my only relief, and respond, the world would ball up their gossip, much like the heat is balled at the end of summer, and wait for the new controversy to appear, leaving the past to deal with itself