the hottest day

Off-year cicadas chrrriii chrrriii in rounds,
a few hoarse crows maybe,
flies buzzing,
hot car tires gumming over melted asphalt pothole patches,
and that's it,
that's all you hear on an afternoon like this one.
Not a limp leaf brushes another,
not a dropped greasy sweet wrapper blows down the street,
nor a single lost love note
loosed from it's grip under a windshield wiper.
It's too hot for love.
Everything sticks to something else
but it's not love.
Everything waits
with hot held breath
for a breeze.