Damn the Heat

by

Kathryn A. Kopple

Clyfford Still

A basketball sits on a rough patch
of sod, no longer wanted for play,
the sun in its summer phase, southerly
up there, a direct hit down here.

Out back, in the yard, in vicious heat
that can only signify I hate you. Die already,
ragged zinnias and dogged roses
darken to matching shades of charcoal.

Humps of yellow tickseed begin to shed.
Blocks of hedges hog whatever they can
of the aquifer. The oaks raise their roots
above pavement and eroded soil.

To look at it, the basketball appears
better equipped to handle the climate,
made from strong, lasting materials like
laminate—unlike the general populace.

Hot out there. Do heed the advisory.
Drink plenty of water. Stay inside. Out
there, it’s a scorcher, it’s a forgotten past sense
when the word meant to strip of skin.

Credit: This poem first appeared in a somewhat different version in Easy Street Magazine in 2017.