The landscape hung its laundry
across the sky in a sagging line of colors,
baking in the afternoon heat.
White birds caromed off undergarments,
desperate for wind.
Many dreamed an electric fan
would appear in the sky to chop
the heat in two with its dull blades.
But for one hundred years,
there's been no electric fan,
only a toaster oven,
a busted turkey broiler, oven mitts
we wear as hats to market where
things are bought and sold in units of wind.