103(^{circ)

Summer fields, straw dry,
Kicking up dust in the blistering sun.

Hot macadam winding over sloping ridges,
Past scattered trees that shock the eye
With out-of-context green leaves.

Breeze produced by speed relieves somewhat
The sweat of oppressive heat, as I slide
To the bottom of this bowl of molten air.

Inside I shrivel like a raisin,
Reduced to half my former weight.


©2016 Michael Fraley




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