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the sun glares down at me
withering the trees
so they offer me no shade
no reprieve
from the sticky wet air or
the blistering heat of the pavement
scorching my tender pink feet

i am melting like butter in the sun
and the glare will fry my eyes
like two yellow eggs to the sidewalk and
my skin will pucker up and blister
like bacon in a cast-iron frying pan
drying up inside while the outside is grease

and i thought summer would be lovely

To visit all of Linda Paulson Adams's poems, click HERE

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