Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Poetry: Summer Tyrant

I wanted to write a poem, so I asked on Facebook for some ideas.  A colleague suggested heat.

The first three words are his suggestion verbatim.  The rest is my attempt to do justice to the topic.


Summer Tyrant

Heat.  Relentless Heat.  Tyrannical Heat.
Upon his golden throne, he bends his thought
Toward burning and withering, toward scorched grass.
The shriveled leaf is his joy, the wilted bloom, his delight.

Asphalt apparitions dance at his whim.
The very air buckles at his touch,
Recoils like a child from a monster.
He is the master of motion, micromanaging each inch.

Shadows conspire against him.
Waters seethe with treasonous intent.
The moon sunders his towers to their very foundations.
But each morning finds him enthroned again, his towers soaring higher.

There is no sure relief, no secure shelter;
No artifice can long endure his reign.
His subjects resign themselves to supplication,
Each drop of sweat a begrudged oblation.

How's your AC doing?