The Heat

Record rains displace record rains, all summer.
Let’s play hide-and-seek in half-built office
parks after dark. All summer spring growth
never quits and if you sleep too late you wake
to swaths of fine moss furring the headboards.
The alleys brim with new hybrid flora just marvelous
enough to hoist our flagging romanticism.
Let’s cross creepy foggy alleys the same way
the devoted cross a bed of breathing coals.
Let’s be the botanists of the new. Like us,
the city wants to fight the new depression.
They’re mailing annotated versions of the phone book
to participating lonelier men.
They’re repainting the Laundromats, duct-
taping the coin slots of the damaged machines.
Let’s interview each other for imaginary jobs
that don’t make any sense. It’s one way to have
a conversation. You don’t have to wash your clothes
in a river while it rains to be a barker of lost moods.
You can wash them in a regular Laundromat.
Here’s to the heat coming off of every utterance.