Illustration | Jennifer Fong Li 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.…
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?
