Heat bears down
Beating upon damp brows.
Greedy hands reach for ice
Kept firm by man-made heat.

Hardly thinking of history
When no cold air blew through machines,
Placed annually in windows.

Ice slipping through fingers,
Landing on summer dust and dog hair.
Wasted and melting,
To cool nothing but floor or sink.

Summer beating at the land,
Turning the ground to a tinderbox,
Burning away our patience.

Dreams turn to the falling leaves,
Orange, yellow and red sunsets of trees.
And again to the clean, crisp white,
Of fallen snow against gray skies.

Yet eager hands reach to freezers,
Seeking ice to cool, to soothe,
Our burning, dripping brows.

~JMarie Strickland 7/2012