Early August

by Cath Barton

The muggy days muddle me.
My mind and body drag
In sweaty discomfort.
Tomatoes droop their leaves,
Cats loll listlessly
And my skin prickles.

I stir, fetch water
From the butt
And revive the tomatoes.
The level is low,
Not enough
For many more waterings.

The swish of the traffic
Outside my window
Sounds like rain,
But we look for it in vain,
And away to the east
The harvested crops are dust.