Clint Eastwood Sun


This spittoon of a day
claws into the sky
& wrings out a heat index
of 96 degrees

We all do
backstrokes in the pool
of community sweat,
heat strokes
on the asphalt

Like an ancient curmudgeon,
the sun is
hollering at us
for existing
Get off the lawn
Use inside voices
Bite your tongues
and hot ghosts

It’s a center of the earth
kind of afternoon



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