in the shade here in southeast Alabama haze
even the red clay melts under your feet,
why we don't wander 'round,
it's quite the same  year after year,
but no one gets used to it all, ever.

The  kittens corn cotton peanuts all seeking a semblance of
shade under old rusty cars or tractors or steel
silos, our skyscrapers here in the wiregrass.

Everyone, scantilly clad as possible, girls in shorts and bras dudes all sweaty bare chests, the corn baking in the heat the cotton awaiting a cooler day to burst out, peanuts hiding underground.

The roads asphalt melting and look far away you see the heat waves
dancing to the sun upon a grey distance, which no one here ever gets to meet, or go to the dance or even approach.

The future is encroaching here though. Most all of us seek cool in what the big cities do. And end up in an air conditioned cell.
addicted to cool.
Or, just something to do?