simple subtraction

one hundred degree days
crawl by
in a slow
s t u t t e r
speech

behind

behind

at work and it's hot. one hundred degree room, hands sticking to the table. face towards the cool air breeze of late day. the count down usually begins at seven- only four hours left.
tired mind.
yesterday,
passing on the highway i saw an empty greyhound. i was in a half sleep, stuck to eric's backseat; dreaming. the windows were slightly tinted but i could see the formless chairs- passing.

this morning, four a.m., body pausing, half on the couch. his arm stuck to my sun scorched shoulders, heavy pulse beating. eyes open, two or three blinks and gone. nine a.m and stephanie is speaking. lethargic and confused i'm awake. he is up and we are driving. dense sound and whir, air conditioner blowing.

paul is a year older, mowing the lawn. long, thoughtful steps deep into the early morning sun. sweating and he needs a towel.

we are driving and i miss these old streets, one hour we are home. are we alone? her newest love is gone- at work, i suppose. ramshackle couch cushions, upside down and tinted with someone else's sweat. a crumpled sheet and the lingering smell of a stranger. it's so lonely.

long fingers through my hair- down turned head. ache. mailbox payments, letters to the landlord- thank you. poor. down sweat, drenched eyes shut.

girls tumbling down the sidewalks, balloons and beers. wide-eyed police car nights. friday in the city.