Fever

The heat so peaked tonight the moon can’t cool a scum-mucked swimming pool, or breeze emerge to lift the frowsy ruff of owls too hot to hoot, (the mouse and brown barn rat astute enough to know to drop and dash) while on the bunched up, corkscrewed sheets of cots and slumped brass beds, the fitful twist and kink and plead to dream a dream of air as bitter cruel as winter gale that scrapes and blows and gusts the grate to luff the whitened ashes from the coal.