Cool Your Blood

I'm waiting for something to collapse this august summer of bees and wasps. Take away the meanness of eggs every morning for thirty one days. The meanness of scrapple. No more hot wind blowing off the interstate through the rolled down window, no more hospitals, no more stitches. Cold winds blow and freeze the swarming flies swarming my potato salad, cool the red from my son's face, take the wasps worrying him from every back yard. Take the wasps take the hornets take the flies. Take the flies.