Solar

The fluorescent lights stay in the bone.

Nine hours of sitting alone.

I push the door to the heavy air.

The heat is waiting everywhere.

The black plastic is a stove.

I pull the hem of my shirt up

to keep the palms from the burn.

The fabric is damp and thin.

The engine groans.

The fan blows a dry, metal wind.

I steer with my knuckles,

waiting for the sun to quit.