You are inside, shirt stained to your

body, and the world spins by out

of control. The midday

heat is unbearable, beer is all

that matters, the coldness of the

can, the dark liquid. You have

your own ways of coping.

She is asking for too much and you’re

ready to back down, but you’re

not sure where to retreat to. You

need a refuge, you need a place

where the world won’t hurt you –

it used to be here – you’ve

sifted through your options and nothing

beckons. Better perhaps to ride

it out? Better to watch as she

self destructs, and wait to

pick up the pieces.

Outside a bit of breeze is

lifting the hot air and you wipe away a film

of sweat from your face.

She is quiet now,

waiting for evening.

by Cher Bibler