The last of June burns to the third degree,
Sun swelling like a blister on the sky.

For once, I'd rather be breathing out
Little clots of cold from a thin winter.

Robins fan themselves with their hot wings
And worms slink deeper for some dark relief.

From the bossy radio, warnings not to gas a tank
Or blaze a barbecue with forbidden fuel.

Good citizen that I am, I won't mow the lawn
Or let asthmatic joggers run their noonday routes.

I won’t open a hydrant in the street, even though
Every pore on me opens like a spout.

Wherever the wind's gone, I want to go, too.
Leaves hang like the tongues of tired dogs.

Others may shade themselves in the cool of movies
Or float over the chlorine ripples of a pool.

Should I shut the windows tight and turn
The thermostat as low as the level of polar floes?

Night can't come soon enough for me, or storms
That drain the heat and douse the summer air.

Illustration by Blair Thornley