Pumpkinville 1990

They shut down the airport--too hot.
Not because planes can't fly, but
Manuals don't go that high and
Asphalt melts.
So do people,
Who shut down when heat boils their blood.
The body shuts off,
Consumes itself into sleep with
Blistering breath
Then death.
The northeast ushers punishing winds,
A high pressure system that bakes everything,
Pushing and beating us into submission,
To remind us of the desert we've invaded.
On edge, we barely look at each other,
Urgent to get home and a
Struggling air conditioner,
Glass of cold water that can't keep ice.
We're rebuked in
Pumpkinville,
First home to Hohokam who knew to bring water
And smart enough to flee when drought came.
But not us.
We stay here, bolted to the ground by Horace Greeley
And dry heat, the fool's invention.

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
Image: © Gannett