Time was moving more slowly than matter,
And with the heat trapped in the air
Trees and animals alike
Struggled to respire.
Yet, for the love of the Lamb,
That yellow tape found the energy to rise
Like a ring ’round Firgrove’s complex.
At the circus we stared in silence
Having forgotten our personal business
Minds crawling at the pace of traffic
Hypnotized by the army of cruisers
Apathetically flashing and screaming,
Filling all three driveways with mystery
And infecting our bus with despondency,
As if the purported rocket hadn’t enough trouble
Hauling itself over Jane’s humps.
Now we understand more than the heat’s esses.
As of now, despite our reticence,
We passengers can tell the heat’s a killer
Killing all hope for a thorough investigation.
And, with the Lord, we know
Know the evidence is predicated in our poverty;
In our crumbling buildings
And nascent population of Single moms,
Many pushing strollers and designer handbags
Puffed up with diapers and hot air.
Time heaves over one’s agony.
Not for herself.
For her baby.