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Saturday, August 1, 2015

Words Written in Early August (while remembering a certain snowy evening)

Nor is the quality of suffering
Strained in the least when
Humidity grips the city streets
And sweat beads on 
Our collective brow
I hear it too in
The sluggish cries
Outside the casement window
And the random honks
Of taxis passing by
Dulled by the effort
Of getting wherever
It is the passengers
Need to go

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Here's a link to a prior poem that I was reminded of earlier this morning: 

Poem for a Snowy Evening

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