One, two, three leaves sink in the sun.
The bituminous pitch turns liquid.
The path undone runs towards the school
I hear the Miss Teacher translating
English to Northern East, to the city
seeking a leeway in the narrow shadow
beneath the parking cars and licks
its rear before stretching and curling up.
Quite feverish, I feel time peddle heat
through the veins, hear the children
croon in the manner they are tutored.
"This is the summer of everything."
I remember you used to say in the end.
I hold onto my shivering blurred to bleach.
Published on April 17th, 2023
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