Evening Chore

by Richard Dinges, Jr.

Drenched in air’s
dank drip too thick
to breathe, sun broils
my pores, insects
pock my skin, now
become a many-
colored coat I
cannot remove.
Itch and heat
follow me to bed,
infest dreams with
a dark destination
that glows beyond
sunset’s far red
horizon, where hope
lingers and bakes,
animates an aroma
of stolen potential.