Three O'Clock Shift

The vinyl seat is biting back.

I feel the humidity start to crack.

My shirt is sticking to my spine

like something caught upon a line.

I can’t even grip the wheel today,

I have to steer a different way.

With just the tips of two scorched fingers

I move where the heat still lingers.

The dashboard’s breathing out the sun.

I’m waiting for the day to be done,

driving home through a heavy haze

in these long and molten days.