Altweibersommer

the old women’s

summer seeps 

onto the city

spilled honey 

waiting 

to be wiped away

the dishrag night

cold and clammy 

schemes from 

out behind the hills

the townsfolk scurry 

to get their fill

little ants marching on

in circles down

the sun-sodden streets 

or otherwise — encased

like bees in amber

they sit, soak, simmer

subdued and dreamy-eyed

beneath a feeble sun