Summersun

I am the five'o-clock shadow
I run in the afternoon sun
There is no other time. . .
For me.
It is work all day,
And then I finally find myself on the road;
The pavement slithers ahead of me,
A torpid concrete snake,
Sweat droplets are tiny crystal balls
Flung from my fingertips
As I flail my way through a long hour
Of pacing the hot cement.
The Summersun
Is a blazing fiery whip
And I am a willing flaggellite
Who dreams of cool days
And morning rains.
September 3, 1990