In the summer
May 5, 2026 · 1 min read
In the summer
when the wind passes, glass chimes sing
and dead pigs on hooks sway side to side,
their stench drawing hungry boys
with tongues out and bare feet
stepping through black, boiling blood
that runs along the road
like a flash flood, carrying off
cigarette butts,
needles,
orange peels.
The ants and roaches drown,
but fleas hole up in trees,
caught in spiderwebs, blinded
by white sunlight.
First published in Eighty Percent Magazine, Fall 2010
Spring isn't over yet, and it's been a bit chilly. Anyway, who's looking forward to summer? Hopefully, the heat won't be too brutal.
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