SUMMER AND THE HEAT

I hope he knows
as I pass street after street;
that this decades old town is gasping,
faces who glance, glance away,
The sidewalk boils with heat.

Surely he must know,
loneliness is the heart's creation.
My thoughts are so entangled
with the "should I, should I not?"
metaphor of retreat -
Comes summer and the heat.

Were we children then?
Can I, again, find flavor
when boredom walks with me?
He once could restore my laugh,
and  indecisions in me -
yet these are no longer partial for me -
they are me.

I hope he knows
this tenement town stews with gritty heat,
Folks hide in transient glimpses.

All I asked - just once
in his regard,
was that he watch over me.