High Pressure

Fortunately, Minneapolis is at the far edge of the "Heat Dome." And we are not currently at the cabin but the sentiment remains the same. 

High Pressure

Heat smothers the days,

                 the wind chimes silent.

              

Mirages scuttle away useless.

The scorpion sting of summer

threatens me in a cabin without AC,

a retreat deep in the north woods.

In cramped flats and in single-wides

neglected neighbors sweat in silence,

count on modest fans to provide

                                           the remedy.

    But when small blades do not stir

             enough air to cool me

        I purchase something bigger

without a thought for those who cannot.

The disabled, the elderly, my neighbor's

         brother, Bernie, put on shorts,

pull the shades, and down a tepid drink.

         Privilege buys me ignorance.

Marilyn Aschoff Mellor