Thunder Heat

Summer growled mean and showed its teeth
above griddle-hot streets and scorched treetops
in a milk-hazed sky that curdled in the heat
thickening to smoke-colored clouds.
Thunder rolled in through the sulfur-yellow air
like ships whose wakes rattle buildings.
Furtive flashes danced on the walls of our rooms
and we held our breaths and counted seconds.

Cool marine air washed over the city from the west
where the sun's last hour folded into copper foil,
sheets folded and dimpled from underneath.
Just enough rain to lay the dust and clear the haze,
not enough to reach the roots that clutched the dry dirt
like strangling hands. Time to get out the hose.

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