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