by Jon Vilardi
Sunlight is bleach
The blacktop is white the future’s so dim
We’ve nothing to talk about but the heat on our skin
Dog day after dog day namesake at night
Air charged like a battery and what is
Heat lightning anyway
They don’t tell us only teach us to watch it
Offshore, miles away from this midnight beach
I lived an entire adolescence in dark sand
Drinking hot green smoke drinking warm brown liquor drinking
Cool breath for the first time learning it’s hard
To cum on roxies
We’d lie on splinters in the lifeguard stands
Wildly unqualified for the job
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Jon Vilardi is a writer and poet from South Florida. He has work published and forthcoming in Some Words, Midcult*, TRU DAT, Badlands, et al. He also has bad posts forthcoming on Twitter and Instagram (@jonvilardi).