Ice Cream Doesn’t Melt In Tucson

Ice Cream Doesn’t Melt In Tucson August 31, 2019

If you ask where to run mid-afternoon in Tucson

front desk will kindly suggest

treadmills and pool on the sixth floor

 

They might know a lawsuit is at risk.

“Don’t tell the patrons how to run to the trail.”

It’s under the interstate and the sidewalks fry eggs.

 

The heat will pre-sap the sweat from all your pores

as if dryness were Calvinist, predestined.

Turn the corner and there are two (count them) two

 

ice cream shops. Buy two scoops, watermelon and peppermint.

Then run. Run fast enough and nobody feels the heat,

like the salsa isn’t spicy until you stop eating it.

 

The ice cream won’t melt. Soon the city isn’t gentrified

and you’re passing the federal building, standing as it does

on pillars of stone separating it from the ground,

 

as if federally-funded buildings are UFOS temporarily landed.

Keep running. Bus riders will stare. They ignore the ice cream.

It’s your sweat they want to lick. You are salt in winter.

 

At some point you begin to forget the coworking office

and the men’s next level grooming and the yoga mats

and all you can taste is the residual shampoo on your tongue.

 

This is another planet. Men appear out of nowhere,

migrant mirages, each of them carrying giant 7-11 cups

full of water, for which I won’t exchange ice cream.

 

The river bed is dry. So dry the bones have turned to sand.

The trees are watered with reclaimed water.

Reclaimed from hotel showers or groomed men?

 

I could stay out here on The Loop, in heat hot enough

to blister toes, but my ice cream won’t melt.

It’s then that I see it. Over the smell of melon and mint.

 

A hawk swoops across the path and snags a snake.

At first it struggles for lift, talons piercing scales.

As if a hipster could water a desert with money from one hose.

 

My ancestors came through this desert. That’s a lie.

But it feels like they did. Like they could have come this way.

I’d like to think the ice cream could find its way back up the hose.

 

 

 

"anyone can do it but passerbys are free to criticize."

Pastoring In Public
"He’s just scared. He’s a victim of White privilege. It’s a slippery slope. First they ..."

Labor Day And The Elaine Massacre ..."
"Or he has decided to call out phony blame sharing."

Labor Day And The Elaine Massacre ..."
"Apparently Bob thinks if he is shrill there must be some truth in his claims."

Labor Day And The Elaine Massacre ..."

Browse Our Archives

Follow Us!