Heat has expanded the air in my thermos
Causing it to “pop” open as I unscrew the lid.
Steam comes pouring out vertically
Splashing the scent of coffee all over the room.

Cicadas ceaselessly scream at the sun
As beads of sweat trickle down my spine.
The day is suffocatingly humid,
And it’s not even ten.

I reach into my bag in search of reprieve
From the oppressive sweat and heat
And find the chalk I cake my hands in
To be dry and cool.

Out of no where, the Beach Boys begin playing.
Hours from the shore
And an ocean away from home,
In the outskirts of Kyoto
I alone understand.

I take a seat at the foot of the wall.
After a sharp inhale I exhale determination.
I grip the coarse hold with concrete fingers.
Lifting myself up, I begin the day.

 

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2 thoughts on “Saturday Morning

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