Shakespearean Heat
Shall I compare
thee to a summer’s day?
All red-faced-sweaty
too hot to be
bothered
asking me to bring
you another beer
as you lay on the
couch where
Your skin will
stick to the vinyl and will make
a tearing, sucking
noise
when you finally
get up.
The ceiling fan
stirs thick air
and the curtains,
closed since breakfast, swallow
the house in
half-darkness grief
[Curtains should
only remain closed on a house where
there has been a
death, or when it’s going
to be over forty
degrees.]
Sometime too hot
the eye of heaven shines
You squint into
the sun
setting pavers
into the scraped, dry earth
a path to the
washing line
unnecessary now
And crows feet
are left as white markings on your tanned face
you call them
‘laughter lines’ but
wrinkles are
wrinkles, age is age.
I get you your
beer
and one for myself,
join you on the
couch for the
midday movie.
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