We get hot.  

We get scolding.  

We get sunburn—  

blister bruising.  

We so hot,  

raising hell blows off steam.  

Steamed windows,  

squealing tires,  

and smoke rings—  

easy remedies.  

Sugar in the gas tank.  

Strawberries on the arm.  

We real sweet—  

sour sweet.  

We melt everything to bitter syrup.  

Melted vinyl,  

pressed record.  

Store with three dollar sellers,  

but that’s not the best thing there.  

We like music,  

head bang concussion,  

that we can feel in our stomachs.  

Not the only thing either.  

All melty—  

oh,  

he real sweet.  

 

We get hot.  

Cook things on the pavement.  

Worm carcasses on the concrete—  

burnt crisp.  

Brain fry in the heat.  

Maybe that’s why  

we blow off steam,  

poor taste decisions.  

Rings singe skin.  

No sunburn on shirtless skaters  

except bruises.  

Bitter bite.  

Damn,  

he was real sweet.