Summer in Florida

moist air
lingers like a fog,
stifling my sticky skin,

a white fan vibrates
on mismatched tile,
buzzing;

it sounds like
a bee colony has moved
into the living room.

beads of sweat drip 
down a glass of sweet tea,
onto the mahogany table.

I adjust the volume
on the radio
to hear the weather;

even the weatherman
wants to
loosen his tie.

sometimes,
I wish
I lived in the Arctic.
　
Helena Malheur 2009