Heat Wave

Heat Wave (PM XLV)

He's coming straight at me,

slouching across the parking lot

on his final visit for the day,

right on a long weekend.

Sweat is pouring off his face

and collects in wide wrinkles

on the side of his neck,

weather beaten and weak he stops

at his car and somehow manages

to coax his body into opening the

door.

He slides in unceremoniously, his bulk

makes the shocks groan and squeak in

thier little metallic voice about how they

wish this guy could just lose a few

pounds and give them a break.

Getting into the car has winded him

but he manages to get it started

right away,

the air conditioning is blowing in his

face but it must still be just

hot air.

He looks beaten,

ten rounds with Mike Tyson,

and no championship belt

in sight.

Audible sighs come from inside the

car and I can feel he pain of a

man well trodden down and left

to die on an alien planet floor.

Sweat and tears can always be

interchanged, abused or confused

but I believe I saw tears escaping

from the many wrinkled folds of this

man's eyelids.

He sat for another moment,

becoming more vacant and weird

until I could see the sweat

retreating from the side of his face.

The air conditioner was beginning

to work,

he shifted into gear and got the hell

out of there,

before common sense told him to

go to the bathroom first.

MCC