Canicule
All day long, the sky vows to rain. Milky, bloated, the air thick like smothering. We move from room to room, slow and sticky, dumb as slugs.
The fans provide a constant whirr, but that’s it. The dogs have been sprawled panting on cool tiles for two months straight now.
All day long, limbs like wet noodles, brains narcoleptic, we beg the sky to bust open, call it names, diss its mother… and still it won’t rain.
Later and spent we go to bed, coaxing rebel night breezes to the room with promises of wealth and glory.
Then a flash of heat lightning, a rumble and we get giddy with imagined relief. Two drops, five, little pebbles on the roof and… oh, baby, yeah.
A sudden clatter, drapes billow and cool shoots through the rooms dark and under the pillows, oh… in the time it takes to say yeah, sweetheart, bring it on… it’s over.
So fitful on hot sheets, drenched cotton, we clamber into dreams of swimming naked through northern lakes.
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