The Catch

The humidity has teeth.

It sits on my chest while the neighbor’s kid

runs a marathon between the porch and the hose.

Slap.

Whine.

The screen door hits the frame

with the sound of tired lungs exhaling.

There is a jagged tear in the charcoal mesh,

right at eye level,

held together by a strip of scotch tape

that has turned the color of a bruise.

It doesn't stop the heat

or the flies.