Sweat pinpricked through shirts
drops collected, slid down our spines.
A bus heaved from the curb
engine whine pitched to a scream
and we winced, muttered curses at the annoyance.
Across the mall two mirrored doors separated
silently ushered a couple outside
on a surge of refrigerated air.
With cool skin and colder eyes
they each wore white and khaki
a bag looped through one finger lightly
as if she’d bought nothing at all.
I went to make a cutting joke but
a rush of hot air whipped hair; sent butts and bits of paper
tumbling over and under our shoes.
With apologies/in tribute to Kerry, who’s the one who actually knows how to write this kind of shit.