That scent is thick
of summer’s weep
of sweat under my
pits [slipped brims
will not offset fears
of skin cancer]/ My
plots to escape will
fail/ No tunnels yet
completed/ So – no
Tom-Dick-or-Harry
will save us/ A war
of words over heat
won’t win [fades to
a catastrophic era]
Your cars idle – A/C
cools you [fuck ‘em
all – we deserve it!]
& our PLAN B slips
from sweaty reach