The incandescent asphalt fuming in the boiling sun,
As you imprint the light-hearted weight of your whole body
On its searing coarse surface, barefoot.
It stings almost like that hapless bee you accidentally
Trod on the other day.
The village rests in a quiet busy life.
Balancing on your heels, the most callous
Bundles of your skin cells, you carefully pick
A patch devoid of glass,
Gravel and crushed stone, and finally, make your next step.
And another. But the asphalt is burning beneath your feet,
Penetrating through your pores, up and up,
Through your calves, your thighs, your stomach,
Past the lungs and larynx
Into the brain. It bites like a winter frost—
You don't want to lick it, or your tongue will
Stick to it for good.
So you speed up, disregarding the gravel fangs,
The bursts of a tickling pang echoing
In the corridors of your mind.
The intricate plexuses of your nerves,
Much like Venice's canals,
Only billions of times more complex,
Diligently relay the signals
Into your thalamus or wherever else pain travels.
This is summer.
A few more meters, and you finally reach the green
Sea of grass. Your voluntary trial is over.
You sprint into the house. Hey, Mom,
What's for dinner? I'm starving!
Look at you, kiddo! Your hands, your face—
All covered in dirt, you little Grime-man!
Ah, Mother, you should have seen my soles!
(You should have seen the other guy!)
The dark-gray tar-like substance clung
To your heels as if they were its last resort,
A naked-skin sanctuary.
My soles and the asphalt are soulmates,
You think, smiling to yourself,
Tired and happy.
About the Creator
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts5 days ago in Longevity
Comments (19)
Asphalt sounds painful! Well written!
OKAY LIKE HAVING THE LINKIN PARK AT THE END DID IT FOR ME. I actually really liked that album too(many did not) Great poem! And congrats on runner up 🤗💕
Solemates! 😁
Many congratulations! 🦒☂️🍾🥂🎆
Andrei! Congrats on your challenge placement ! I am stoked you won a prize! Hearty congrats my friend, you rock!! 🎉🎉👏👏😄
Wonderful! Congratulations on you win.
Very tactile. I can feel the heat. Congratulations on your good writing being recognized.
Excellent read, Andrei. Congrats on placing in the challenge!!!
I used to do this as a kid! When they redid some of the tar in our neighborhood, it would get soft in the sun and my sister and I would walk on it barefoot, a cooler surface than the asphalt itself. But even then, we would tread on it too and take breaks in the shade. I can still feel the residue and the tingle of the heat sting. Haha, such a specific memory! This was a joy to read (and feel). My favorite lines are: “ It bites like a winter frost— You don't want to lick it, or your tongue will Stick to it for good.” Masterful use of the opposite extreme to emphasize just HOW hot the asphalt is. “A winter frost” yeah. So hot, it’s cold at first. And a subtle illusion to another childhood memory, “A Christmas Story” — tongue stuck on a pole. Or maybe that’s just me projecting. Haha. You characterize this childhood adventure so well, an ode indeed, and worthy of placing in the challenge. Many congratulations, my friend! 💕👏👏👏💗🎊🎉
This is wonderful. Congrats
I could feel that heat. Great description here.
I could feel every step of this! ❤️
A very enjoyable read!
You left an excellent imprint with your words
YES YES AND YES - this is brilliant!
This is phenomenal. What a rich sensory experience. Very well done!
Andrei, this was intense but still fun and nostalgia-filled! I love your descriptive langue and the depth you took to the tale you told, while still inserting your fun sense of humour! Well done!
I remember being barefoot on hot concrete as a kid & sand sometimes at the beach. As always I had not idea where this was heading! Such a life is a WONDER kind of vibe about the seemingly mundane - love it!
Ouch! But sounds joyous at the same time. You give quite an experience in your poems! "The intricate plexuses of your nerves, Much like Venice's canals, Only billions of times more complex, Diligently relay the signals Into your thalamus or wherever else pain travels. This is summer." Superb work!