It's sweat season.
The thick-air season,
the "I can't breathe" one.

The uncut clovers,
can you bring yourself to mow them over?
Can you watch Virginia Creepers creep
and hold your mother while she weeps
and save that mouse while your cat sleeps
in the sun so deep
into the air,
it feels as if
it's almost there
to touch,
to burn your small hand on?

Bacon grease and black cement
burn your bare feet,
the gravel digs into your knees
and Finally, some summer breeze.
Finally, thick-air relief.