herd of air conditioners 

i promise you we're going to catch
enough summer spit. i put on my dead boy gloves 
& we try to find the air conditioners 
where they're roaming around the town's
glowing red border. some people set traps
but we are honorable. we do the work
with our own bodies. which is to say
we die a little bit with the beast. we used to have
such a great one. fed him chicken bones 
& pocket watches. then he died & his soul
turned into a video game. we can feel the end times 
on the tips of our tongues. the hotter august.
the bleached trees growing like cauliflower. 
parrots roosting beside bats in the attic.
i just want a quiet cold night. to breathe in
the crimped air. to my luxury is cranking
the air conditioner as high as it will go 
& falling asleep. i did this only once 
in awhile as a child. my parents always found out
& scolded me for wasting my teeth on the dark.
chewing holes through the wall to stick
my urgent fingers through. you could of course
hire someone to grab an air conditioner for you.
they get down on all fours & run alongside them.
i tell you not to give up. night comes
& the air conditioners are more vulnerable.
less vision more feast. i carry a blue raspberry ring pop
on my finger. hold it out & hope for the best.
when one comes, leaving his herd behind,
i let him eat. i know i need
to grab the cord or his horns but i don't.
sweat down my face. he runs off, trotting back
into the fields of broken cds. i hear 
on the other side of town they are setting up
the biggest seance yet. i do not know if we 
will go. there is still a creature to catch.