The Substitute for Winter

The very hot sun melts the tar

On the very dry, cracked street.

The grass on the lawn won’t stay green

Because of the inhabitable heat.

They say it has to rain soon

Or we’ll all have to run.

From this place we call home

It may be time to find a new one.

The sun still beats down on our red-hot necks

Even after midnight it still won’t quit.

Not till it has burnt this whole land up

And not one place is left to sit.

It’s getting time to go now and

Bubbles form consuming the highway top.

We can’t get out if our way is cut off

Is this bitter Demon-Sun ever going to stop?