Heat

The heat here, blisters
under my feet the paving bakes
and birds are limp as rags
on the lip of the fence.

"Life is the most difficult thing,"
a man says through dry lips
at the bus stop, soon we will breathe
diesel, moist and edible.

My mouth is a greased slick
trying to smile and sweat on my neck
boils under my hair.
Life is the most difficult thing.

I wonder.