One Hundred and Two

I shouldn't have stayed in the store so long.

The groceries are sweating through the paper bags,

and the air in the cabin is a thick, dry lung.

I reached for the wheel and my skin snagged

on the chrome emblem in the center—

a branding iron heat that made me gasp.

August is a room I wasn't invited to enter,

with a handle too hot for a human to grasp.

On the floor mat, a cherry popsicle

has turned into a sticky, neon pool.

I sit here and wait for the vents to whistle,

knowing that nothing is ever going to be cool.