Not My Backyard
by Aurora Clark Page
Meteorologists have been warning heatwaves
The kind that render streets shiny with mirages
Make air that vibrates with something thirsty and drained
Thick with sweat and smog, a lovely prelude to Fall
People will walk in slow dazes with listless eyes
And comment idly about noses clogged with smoke
Medians will blush red with late summer lilies
At least, that’s what the meteorologists said
(meteorologists say our forest’s burning
that it will keep burning
and burning
until it’s nothing but ash and yet still burning)
But what matters is that you feel chilly right now
It’s humid and still, promising for a clear night
Those meteorologists say dusk will bring rain
But they’ve been wrong before, and they’ll be wrong again
You hate listening to meteorologists
So you will not, and your backyard shall be your bed
From under your wool blanket, you’ll stargaze all night
What privilege, to watch quietly as they burn