Wicked Weather, City-Wide

Thunder bangs and cracks,

The asphalt sizzles.

On its sweating back,

A nervous baby grizzles.

Blades chop uselessly

At thick, fetid air.

Clothes are loosened desperately,

Our oozing skins bared.

Arguments subside,

Their protagonists cede, weak.

Ga-ga, they’re slumped inside,

Too stupefied to speak.

These sultry days have all but dried

Our reservoirs of peace.

© S.P.D.