The Heat in New Orleans

The air sticks like a cheap  

trick, clinging, suffocating,  

muting every conversation or  

thought. People shuffle slow  

as molasses spilled, thick  

heels dragging on broken  

sidewalks. The grocery run  

becomes a marathon, sweat  

salt-streaking every ambition.  

Ceilings fans mock the desperate,  

whirling lazy circles, stirring  

nothing but the stench of  

mildew and regret. A dog  

pants heavy on a porch, eyes  

half-shut, no dreams left vast  

enough to escape the dead  

weight of this swampy heat.