it's the heat

i can't talk
to you now, she says.
i'm too hot.
i'm lying on the sofa
with a cold
dishrag on
my head. my
feet are in a bag
of ice.
i'm in no mood
for your silly
banter
and childish
observations.
why don't you
leave me alone
until september.
take a trip
somewhere
and tell me all
about it when
you get back.
right now i've got
nothing. if you were
here in fact
i might just
slap you and blame
this weather
on you. you can
do one thing for
me though. bring
me some ice cream
and leave it at
the door. one
knock will do.
you aren't coming in.