by W. Barrett Munn
 |
| AccuWeather, July 10, 2024 |
The red juiced rooster-shaped thermometer
crowed a whole octave above 100 again today.
Being forged from tin, feathers can’t be touched
unless a blister is accounted for by a salve
or some suitable soothing lotion.
In the evening beneath this heat dome,
I can see the Milky Way, and weigh in that
the temperature matches all 88 constellations,
explain how some are seen only in New Zealand
or elsewhere below the equator, forming
constellations with names like Eridanus, Carina,
Hydrus and Hydra, Octans and Pavo, and Sagittarius..
If only the smaller dipper would drip, or bigger tip
over and spill; but the earth spins slowly, carefully,
there's no spillage to share. In a few hours the world
will turn, and we'll face the sun again; who knows
how many more will die today beneath this dome,
ferns left in the sun too long without being watered.
W. Barrett Munn is a graduate of The Institute of Children's Literature. His adult poetry has been published in Awakenings Review, San Antonio Review, The New Verse News, Copperfield Review Quarterly, Sequoia Speaks, and many others.
