Gonna be another scorcher today.
The sun shines ferociously,
In this place where we dwell.
I refuse to call it home.
For a place that is continually hot,
I have never warmed up to it.
Desert life. No beach. No green lawn.
Three little ones at home.
“Better wear shoes” I warn.
“Watch out for goat heads in the yard”.
I miss my mom.
I have few friends here.
I have one loyal pal, however.
Phil Donahue every afternoon.
Phil, me and Carlo Rossi with a splash of Cactus Cooler.
Every day at 3:00. A party of sorts – to ease my mind.
Our wallets are empty,
But our trash is always full.
Too many Bud bottles and a box from Nick’s Pizza.
Jimmie is a welcome sight in the evening.
Sawdust in his long hair and a sweat stained t-shirt.
The kids have fallen asleep in front of the television.
“Let’s smoke in the backyard” he says.
We chat and feed the dog.
Jimmie hands me a check. “I finally got paid” he says.
“We may perish from the heat” I joke, “but we won’t die broke”.
“What’s the temp for tomorrow” he asks.
“104” I answer. “Gonna be another scorcher”.