Breaking the Cycle of Refrigeration
I no longer depend on air conditioning,
preferring instead to suffer
inside the sweltering interior
of my 2003 Hyundai, windows rolled up,
sun blasting my chest through the windshield,
so stuffy, impossible to breath
with this sweat-soaked collar around my neck.
I cannot take the cool air against my steaming, pale skin.
I’d rather melt into a puddle of goop,
and spill all over the grey upholstery,
than turn on the cold, forced air,
than let that chill, freonic breeze
make its way over my thin, brittle arms
and shiny, perspiring forehead.
No, I’d rather turn liquid, turn liquid and drown into myself,
all the while staring straight into that sky-born
ball of gas thinking of some relief besides a/c,
thinking of you.