detroit

The heat
that causes the
tar to turn
sticky.
The suffocating
stickiness of the
July night.
The rock and rhythm
coming from the
corner
of Michigan & Trumbull.
The traffic.
the buzz.
The electricity in
the air.
Fans to dissipate
the swelter.
Aided by a cool
breeze?
Never.
Sirens.
Laughter.
More heat.
Thicker at night
if that
is possible.
And
it is.
Was.
I miss it all. Or do I
miss
what it was?
Or:
What
I
Was?
Younger.
Braver.
Younger.