sun-sick and weary of the heat
collapsing in a heap
and freezing in the
air conditioning
i stink like a salad
waiting and willing the lawn
to die
to go brown
it’s the drought, you see
but really
i hate mowing the lawn
a conspiratorial whisper
or maybe i’m hallucinating
from the heat
since there’s no one there
Words and Feathers 
Fabulous. A lot of layers to this one. Just the guilty pleasure in what is considered to be an awful phenomenon. And that impulse to share it with someone, even if in a whisper.