The air is so thick, I taste it with every breath.
Mom said when she was girl, that it was
a dry oven, broiling, never all this humidity.
It's all because of the farmer's "blasted"
sprinklers and constant irrigation.

I tend to disagree since I spent sweaty
nights lying in bed without a breeze.
It's so vivid, since I was grounded every
scorching summer five years running.

But, I'd sneak out through the window
to the night world. As a boy, to hop across
the wet grass, playing with cicadas, fire bugs.
Then as a "man", chasing a fantasy girl
named Kate. She raised the heat to sticky
and I was hot for her candy lip gloss kisses.

Mom never found out, of course as I said,
I was sneaky back then as she was remiss.
Now as a man, we sip iced tea on the front porch,
complaining of the heat, each in a silent reverie
from the same time, but remembered differently.

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