Poem
Summer in Memphis,
Sticky, sweaty, hot
outside.
Noisy, air conditioned
inside.
Outside, the air is still.
There is absolutely no wind blowing.
How can that be?
Inside, fans are working overtime
and electric bills are soaring.
At noon, no one is on the walking track behind my building.
It’s 90 degrees,
The weatherman says it feels like at least 93.
It’s humid and hot even when the sun is hidden behind a cloud
Barely a reprieve
Even for those precious few minutes.
In case my words haven’t driven home the point
Go ahead and ask me,
“How hot and humid is tt?”
My sunglasses and phone screen fog up
When I step outside.from my office in the early afternoon.
I can see the humidity in the air.
When she visited,
my daughter swore she could feel the humidity seeping through the walls.
I walk in it.
I run and bike in it.
I have to cut back on my miles a bit
But I don’t let it stop me entirely.
Doesn’t mean I like it
Just that I tolerate it.
Can’t say it feels good
Because it doesn’t.
Steamy, muggy, humid, hot.
Sweaty, anxious, tempers on edge.
Summer in Memphis.
Not all that different from when I was in Mobile.
Except then I was younger
And didn’t know any better.
