The Heat

The heat made things sort of fuzzy,
The highway before him,
made a beeline straight into a flaming horizon,
while a scorpion lay prostrate upon a rock,
like bacon frying in the fat.
like bacon frying in the fat.

His face was twisted and screaming.
He looked around for the girl,
like an old man
desperately searching for a lost memory.
He stumbled after her,
with the words still suspended in his mind,

Her smell still lingered on,
torching his nostrils
and setting him alight.

The lines on the horizon snapped and broke,,,
like a dried twig.
as a long-haul trailer truck thunder-rumbled by:
it was a gravel crusher in a hurry.

The image of the girl in his mind,
was sucked away in the back-draft.
Caught in the undertow,
was a full color glossy photo,,,, from Phoenix.
It was another scorcher.

The bar was packed,
but nobody was laughing.
“I think we’d better go.”
“I’m right behind you.”

As the bus
roared away from the station,
with a purpose, and fast,.
the look in their eyes,
said all there was to say .

He stumbled
and ricocheted back
into his confused self.
and all the while the scorpion
still lay prostrate upon the rock,
like bacon frying in the fat,
like bacon frying in the fat.