the southern air
oppressive was
as any day in hell.
the breath caught in our throats like cotton would.
as sweat poured forth her secret well,
evaporation failed because
air's saturated. there
must be some good

in days like these
since many are
and more to come. it seems
collective calls unconsciously conspire
to summon end of such regimes
that cage us in our house or car
or bring us to our knees
with our desire:

to feel a breeze
some lasting rains
a respite from our lot
no more to wilt beneath the southern sky
contrary to what we've been taught
we start to pray for hurricanes
induced mental disease
our alibi