Saturday, July 09, 2011

Small Talk

The sense of betrayal San Franciscans feel at the hands of the weather heightens
with each whipping week of summer wind.
It doesn't matter that this happens every year.
Maybe it's because so many of us are from other parts
of the country where the summer heat soaks every layer
until there is nothing left to take off
and even the panes of glass in the windows warm foreheads laid in desperation against them.
Or maybe it's because we would like to believe that these words
-- June, July, August --
mean something more than the sounds of their syllables slinking together
like the thin bracelets Rose wears that clip and ring while she loads bags with the fruit I have bought
apples and peaches and mangos balanced
on top so their skin won't split on the walk home.

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