Poem for Thursday

14 July 1954

Sun melts the eastern
then western horizon.

Scorched air settles
between those far verges,
scalds lungs
under a shadeless noon.

A faint breeze rises
and burns flesh.

Corn fields crackle,
turn brown
in a day:
long leaves sear
to rattling swords.

The whole week broils,
but gradually cools
to old men’s stories
retold
on every
air-conditioned day.

======

St. Louis photos from that week.

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7 thoughts on “Poem for Thursday

  1. A beautiful poem … so powerful with its imagery that I felt the streets baking beneath my feet. Love ‘corn fields crackle, turn brown in a day’. Wonderful … thank you.

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