Marie Taylor, Ink

The heat of August rolls in like fog,
its heavy breath smothering the cries
of birds in nearby trees.

Quieting all before it, it rolls|
relentlessly, whispering
siesta songs to waiting ears.

Silence inhabits the blue shadows
of a sleeping room as heavy eyelids
surrender.

Air conditioners whirl in a world
of their own making
of shut windows and locked doors.

Soft tinge of peach on the horizon
outlines the shoulders of the setting sun, 
weary now from holding up the sky.

Sunset breezes wrestle with heat waves
radiating from the browned earth
and tumble across yellowed gardens.

Soft hiss of slippers on sidewalks
swish pass and dogs are taken
on cool evening walks.

Popped corn smells drift from a county fair
in full swing down the road,
a kaleidoscope of colored lights and manic cries.

A lone dog barks, then is answered
by another and in the distance
the hum of traffic growls.

Cats with slitted yellow eyes emerge
from afternoon naps
stretch out legs front, then back,

sit on high walls and survey
their midnight kingdoms, wash first one paw
and then another.

Moon coyly peeks over rooftops,
Venus, goddess of the night,
throws off her dusky robes and shines.