​Another day of swelter at the end of July
In just another midwestern city
Streets lined with the predictable pattern
Of overly large trees that provide shade
And sometimes a slight breeze that cools
A pedestrian into a believable possibility
That will not last against the grip
Of the preceding day’s realized threat to remain

One has no chance against the Heat
The sun and the air will have their way
As will our fate
For the dream of what we don’t want
Desperate to soothe us, like the breeze
Thinks the opposite of what is now the remedy
But those flimsy solutions are no cure
Eventual surrender to the umcomfortable

Is like this last line that must hang alone