Skay Hour 9

An exhausted afternoon sun strikes lethargy
In a stifling thick air of the summer cottage
A tired fan groans as it makes yet another
Circle midair in the dense heat.
Fumes rise from the bottle of need
Putrid, rancid, and plain old strange
My head dances a tribal ritual,
A porridge of unrest, tears and obituaries
An escape atop wings to a cool paradise
I raise my glass and down the bitter drink.

5 thoughts on “Skay Hour 9

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *