by David Chorlton
Today the inside knows what the outside’s like,
cats asleep and windows closed
with nobody walking on the street
and birds in the yard waiting for a shadow
to perch on.
cats asleep and windows closed
with nobody walking on the street
and birds in the yard waiting for a shadow
to perch on.
It’s a hundred-
and-Hell degrees this afternoon, the devil’s
breath for a breeze
and climate change denial melts
when the temperature dances
on the asphalt in the road.
and-Hell degrees this afternoon, the devil’s
breath for a breeze
and climate change denial melts
when the temperature dances
on the asphalt in the road.
is too high for living outdoors. Another
record falls. The homeless camp
was swept away and a public nuisance
turned into a death threat.
has made a dust bath in a bare patch
on the lawn, a man with no address
lies down with his belongings
at a bus stop where there’s shade.
A lizard on the back wall
flashes his lightning scales as he climbs
a few more degrees
and doesn’t stop until he’s safely reached
the air conditioned sky.
flashes his lightning scales as he climbs
a few more degrees
and doesn’t stop until he’s safely reached
the air conditioned sky.
David Chorlton is a transplanted European, who has lived in Phoenix since 1978. His poems often reflect his affection for the natural world, as well as occasional bewilderment at aspects of human behavior. He still produces occasional watercolors and is attentive to the local wildlife.