Photo by sippakorn yamkasikorn
I live
in heat
a hundred outside
a hundred inside
a hundred on the thermometer in my hand
I’ve taken ten thousand temperatures this year—no exaggeration—
checked the weather hundreds of times this year—
my car covered in ash
the red-orange sky, how my ex- told me greens can’t get through the smoke
“post-apocalyptic” all over the media
a deer with tumors
at the hazmat site where I do night shifts
a man with tumors
at the hospital where I do day shifts
smoke like the entire world has been stuffed inside of one massive ghost
a deer has a seizure when I’m on patrol—I radio this to my boss—
he comes out with his flashlight—the deer stops seizing—
my boss leaves—the deer starts seizing again—
this heat like a fishhook
like a photo of a fishhook set on fire
the man in 7 telling me he’s burning up, tells me to feel his head
I don’t feel it, I say
Here, he says, grabs my hand, puts it on the back of his head
I don’t feel it, I say
next to him, a coloring book of animals—I see a black-and-white owl where all he’s done is take a red
crayon and zigzag back and forth across the page—what looks like he’s done this for an hour, more,
killing the crayon, killing the owl, ripping through the page, the
paper curling up
the ash outside the window floats sideways, horizontal
I look outside, see a CNA out there, the air quality “Very Unhealthy” today
and he’s smoking
in his gown
his face a heat-stroke maroon
he doesn’t even wear his mask anymore
just goes from room to room
