Fingers on Fire

The steering wheel burns, slick under palm,

a summer’s wrath in the dust of the calm.

Traffic moves slow, a creeping despair,

a world caught in heat, and no breath of air.

I grip it too tight, heart racing like mad,

a flicker of dreams; I’m both lost and glad.

Windows rolled down, the asphalt shimmers,

distant horizons where freedom glimmers.

A spark of rebellion beneath the sun’s glare,

I yearn for the cool, for a moment to spare.

But here I remain, in the heat of this fight,

fingers on fire, chasing the night.