Poetry: HEAT

Noonday is a torture with
it rebounding off the cracked sidewalks and
shine-top sneakers yet
without it
early mornings are
unbearable
No water bubbling to
pour
over cocoa rich like her
skin
and the skins of the young women - girls some of them -
that parade the streets each day
No soup
over which to share
lunchtime humour reflections
on the morning's news - praying people ending up
dead politicians still not using their
heads celebs and wanna-be hopping beds and
faking degrees - wondering on the fate
- even the very nature and constitution -
of truth
colder than the first dewdrop
or the space between
feuding lovers
neither wishing to budge
yet both inwardly
acknowledging - sometimes despising - the
undeniable nudge
the first
merest  - inescapable - hint
of heat