The air conditioner’s hum has escaped through the unsealed door,
Crinkles and crackles floating off with yesterday’s pollen.
Heat begins to rise and muddle throughout the house—
Too bad we’re frying bacon tonight.
Hair and sleeves up, the air grows thick with a burnt taste.
I clean the grease and pack it in a jar before turning out the lights,
Afraid of the moths sacrificing themselves against the windows.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Photo by Mitchell Luo on Unsplash
