Heat of Reflection

August sun blisters, heat rising like steam,

the asphalt shimmers, in a summer's cruel dream.

I grip the wheel tight, feel the burn seep in deep,

reminding of summers, in cars that would creep.

A drop of sweat slides down, clings to the glass,

as memories shimmer, like ghosts in the grass.

Stuck at a light, the engine's loud drone,

leads me to think of the hours alone.

In every red light, I count the regrets,

in the sticky heat, a past that begets.