Asphalt Heat

The asphalt breathes out heat.

A shimmer on the black.

Cars bake in silent rows,

no turning ever back.

Lines faded, cracked, and white,

mark out this empty space.

Sun glares with all its might,

on every metal face.

Saw a woman, slow and bent,

with bags clutched to her side.

Her purpose, evident,

nowhere left to hide

from the glare, the gritty dust.

Just getting home. A must.