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4 May, 2013

“That’s one cruel sun,” he said,
lifting his hat and dragging a dust-cracked hand across his melting forehead.
“Cruel,” shaking his head.

I wondered if shelter had occurred to him but, based on the Martian landscape that was his face, decided it never had.

I think he sat outside of his trailer on that ancient rock,
belched up from a primordial seabed,
all night long
waiting for more cruelty.

He chuckled. “I sweat, therefor I am.”

Descartes in the desert. Who would have thought it?

It should have been no more a surprise than my ache for Susan, who
a Persian friend called Shaytan.

Perhaps she was. Perhaps she was.
As much as anything, she’s why I’m here
sharing that cruel sun.

“I ache, therefor I am” just didn’t have the kick of ‘sweat’.

Still, eyes closed, he nodded and said “Amen.”


From → Stories & Poetry

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