Food. or fuel?

the heat’s made us both
victims of lethargy
in the porridge thick air.

we creep along the weary treeline
which only partially masks
our cantankerous presence.

so it’s no surprise
when the zooming anger
arrives bright as a bottle of fireflies

it drives us in opposite directions
me towards the strange cottage;

Ryan continuing to town
lured by the urge of petroluem.

we didn’t even make plans
to meet up again.

perhaps now we never will