The heat is a memory trigger
looking back I figure
all those high temperatures
make a line in my mind
of sensory familiarity.

Sweat on my brow
soaking through
my receding hairline,
wet spots become
darker shades of
whatever color
shirt I am wearing.

No ac because I am
to cheap,
so I sleep
still sweating
with a box fan
pointed towards me.

A gallon of water to drink
and I ride dangerously
on my mountain bike
through countrysides
and city streets
listening to music
that pushes me
with its hastening beat.

Today the heat index
is a hundred and ten plus
very dangerous
to anybody else,
but I have no fear
I have been here
in the clear
summer swelter
for thirty-seven years
and it is kind of fun.