August

August is hot, sticky.
It's sweat running down your temples,
down the center of your back.
It's an under dressed hot, young thing
looking wilted.
And it's a well-padded mother-of-three
pausing gratefully under the Wal-mart
airconditioning blast.

August is half-a-bushel of tomatoes every week
in spite of tomato blight and
it's red and orange hot peppers and
juicy, sweet watermelon that tastes
even better
than the airconditioning blast feels.
It's sweeping watermelon seeds off the porch
because 5-yr-olds don't spit well yet.

August is cold showers three times before dinner
and stirring spaghetti sauce in front of a box fan
and the kids wanting to "wait in the car with the airconditioning."
It's not letting them because in February,
we'll think back wistfully to August.

August is snipping at your beloved
because it is just. too. hot.
And then hurried apologies because
you didn't really mean it.
Sorry! Sorry! I love you! I love you, too.
Smooch!
Mmmmm, salty.