Day Two

Sweat
once as familiar as breath
trickles down my back in a slow crawl.
It is not a friend, this new sweat.
It sticks and clings.
It mucks and binds my clothes to my skin
and slides stinging into my eyes.

What is this creature
that burns my thighs
and hangs under the swell of my breasts?
Sweat drips and cools.
I know because sweat was once my friend.

This is not my friend. This is not that sweat.

This must be a relative come to visit that just won't leave - like dead fish, smell after seven hours (as I smell - though I never actually dried from the cold shower and my hair is still damp twisted into my bun.)

The air hangs ponderously in
obeisance to this sweat,
worshipping at the alter
of the damp that covers the world.

Finally,
       I collapse into a chair
              AIRCONDITIONING........
                     AHHHHHHHHHHHH........
                            and the sweat dies on my skin -
                                          only to rise again as I step into the street.