Crossing the threshold
I am pasted sticky, wet
Eight a.m. and eighty-eight degrees
The air is invisible still but steamy, molasses
Life in slow motion
I do not want to mow the lawn in slow motion
I am thirsty
I do not want to wear grass and dirt today
I am soaking wet already
I wish you were still here
You would be surprised
I have fixed the place up nicely
Barn door thermometer reads ninety
The mower starts easily
I am tired already
Maybe you will come back today
for once
I look forward to a cold shower

inspired by Lime

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