God Grant Me Air Conditioning
The days are long
as the empty fields of France
fertilized by bones, blood, steel, screams, smoke,
steady spring rains.
And I’m higher than the mountains.
Buzzing stronger than the bees.
Microwave lullabies beep beep beeping
lower down than a back alley slag
in the heat of late May.
But it’s July,
and the heat’s much worse than that.
I bleed the storm and the storm bleeds nails down upon us
through hard wins, cold losses.
And I’m thinking
maybe we should put our heads
or at least our bodies together
on this one,
for we won’t make it through
any other way.
And when you think you can’t make a living
consider the fact
that you’re still alive