Description: Bah. Hate the title, think it's lame. And anyone from a hotter climate (read: almost everyone) is going to laugh at me for this. Actually I'm being very unfair in this poem. Makes it sound like I greatly prefer Mtl to QC... but they're both home and they have different qualities is all... love 'em both.
Cloying humidity strangles pedestrians
(and other unfortunates) in the summer—
Too hot to breathe; eyes
roll back, clammy hands
rub aloe into burns. Red faces swell,
Almost wish for the
burning ice of February's
Heat makes the city come alive.
It's the yearly rebirth of the soul
Jack Frost killed—it's baked
into the very concrete. Sainte Catherine
and Peel—a walk along Maisonneuve,
sweating but on fire. A far cry
from the desolation and grief
these streets house when dressed
in winter's grey robes, when one
dares not step out of doors
for fear of dying from
lack of sun.