The First Hot Night of Summer
JD Sullivan
Fans of hot air
assail and accost us,
as we powerlessly sleep,
trembling in the hot,
sticky from the heat.
I do not want to touch you.
I want to cry and thrash about
and beg you to close out
any oppressive light.
In the cool shade
I will clutch you, and lick
the salty sweat from your shoulders.
Summer is unkind to lovers,
who cannot kiss in feverish days,
and only lie still in the flu of night,
while cicadas hum,
and moth’s wings flutter
against the street-lamps
someone forgot to turn off.
