So it is hot again.
And the dried ground
As if here is where a desert is being formed.
Maybe in fifteen years
if the clouds go further north.
With the trees shrinking and dying.
No news of rain.
So even the water coming
out the tap and down is hot.
Like it has been dancing
on the pavement
before belching out
before it was tricked and tickled
and squeezed by shaken down and out.
d. n. simmers is an on line editor with Fine Lines. He is in will be in Poetry Salzburg Review, the Storyteller, Iconoclast, Plainsongs, California Quarterly, Poets Touchstone, Bluestem, and Nomad's Choir. He is on line in poetrymag.com, red river review, new american digital, storyacious, and word press. He is in an newly launched anthology Royal City Poets ( 4) and was in Van Gogh's Ear, Paris France.