Draft 2

120VAC

I can hear the glue in the wallpaper melting,
sucking up heat and humidity
like a greedy drunk on a slow
stumble-swing to the floor.
I finger a warm bourbon bottle filtering
the noonday sun like red tealeaves.
It sloshes spidery, no water this,
no stiff upper lip surface tension.
Tilting in my hand, a little brown sunset,
like old pittsburgh's august
when a steel god said push and the ore
mountains shoved, and the Ohio muscled
barges up her oily back.
It's noon and hot like a whole city in my belly.