The sirens and country music sway in a melody not to be forgotten.
Still with the muggy heat, damp, resting infront of your face
They wail, crying, move through you, under your arms.

You can't see the sirens, but you know what colour they are.
Bright red, warning you of yellow grass and clammy hands,
and even though bright red and country music don't mix well together,
you don't mind, it's a loud, comfortable silence.
Reminds you of orange juice and rum, never been a good pair
always did the trick

Teenage boys walk into the silence
laughing their way through, making a different sort of harmony.
You notice they're not wearing shoes,
flesh melting to the pavement, they keep laughing
deep laughs, right from the diaphram. They whipe,
the sweat from their upper lips,
trying to ignore the red warning the summer brings.

You don't know why any of this matters,
don't know how any of it could ever be more important,
than things that actually matter.
But, you don't care, you're happy worrying about things,
that have little meaning,
and no rank on God's list.
For somebody has to care,
for the little things.