The window was propped open
to pull in the night
along with the moths.
I lay slumped in the chair
thinking of the streets in Madrid.
How anyone endured
the suffocating air
and rooms that dripped sweat
I could not understand.
It’s not so bad, she said,
blowing her hair
out of her face.
I would have thrown
my cup at her,
but it was too hot.
© 2016, Gavin Zanker.
Photo by Karsten Seiferlin licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic.