The Intersection

It’s there,

Right around the corner.

Darting eyes.

Perked ears.

Scampering feet.

Sweat is wiped from foreheads.

The drops of dew

Are flicked from wrists

And sizzle on the summer’s pavement.

 

Steps,

Through beams of sunlight.

Don’t step on the crack.

The scars of the sidewalk

From winters past.

This tile is from ‘67.

Bob Marley stood there,

So did Ronald Reagan.

 

A flash.

Windshields blind the pedestrian,

And shock the driver.

For a moment

The deer in headlights

Is a person in glare.

 

An old woman,

Dressed for snow,

Has seen hotter days,

But now only cares about getting to the other side

Before the light changes.

 

Nervous scuttles.

It’s there,

On the tip of each desert tongue.

 

A drill.

A horn.

A cup of change.

A bell.

 

A breeze of a bike and all is calm.

 

Then thrust back into action

As skin burns,

An itch cruises down Spine St.,

 

Which is experiencing a flood of record levels;

Meteorologists expect for the perspiring precipitation to continue

As long as

The drought remains outside the white t-shirt.

 

It’s there,

At the front of the mind.

But unable to escape past the waiting wall

Of heat that sears the soul

Medium-well.

 

For God’s sake,

What was I going to say?