the dogs lie lazily in the dirt
fanning themselves but not for cool
the ground does the cooling
the air is a butter covered biscuit
vat of dough being stirred
inches above the ground to feet
as you try to breathe it in
just drinking the butter, choking on the dough
you squint your eyes to see
but you still see only longer rays of white
piercing the iris and pupil
reminding you who is king
the king of the summer
the monarch of all monarchs
beating you down into submission with
a simple tool: heat.
To your knees! Serve, servant!
Do the bidding of the realm
even if you disagree with the outcome
or tire from the days of labor
to make it right
to fit the mold
to create or destroy as the king sees fit.
Your day is done, as the day is long
so drink it down and celebrate your
strength and cunning for the time
when love is flavored by a lime
and you don't move along any further.
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