poem of the day 08.25.09

hot nights

hot nights
like these
where the sweat drips
into your mouth
onto the page

hot nights
where you could
easily commit a murder
but don’t

you are thankful that
the streets are empty,
everyone inside with their faces
pressed against the a/c
with the television humming hell
in the background

even the bars are dead

hot nights
like these
where the air doesn’t move
you think about the bottle waiting
at home
your wife
your bed
and in the window your tabby car
laying flat on the sill
trying for a little breeze

hot nights
like these
like this one in sweltering brooklyn
the lights of your living room
a beacon glowing into the street
faint music playing
you stop and think

hot nights
like these
the world is almost a beautiful place
almost.