Her stomach corseted beneath the waves of fabric,
a wrinkle folded in and out like
an envelope encasing her abdomen.
The sun filtered through the screens around us,

as if embalming everyone to their wicker
chairs. The men swigged barley juice as a cathode
to the heat, proving it with sniggers
basted together with dirty jokes and pupas

of truth about their lives. Kids, too young for me
to deal with, zigzagged and sprung about the yard,
pocketing dandelions and chasing bees.
I waited for the rain to hit and cool

off our stinking skin, extinguishing
the grill, but days of rain are far behind us.
The aching heat will dry us out long before
we get any relief from these skies.