cool, finally cool

I know this comes from somewhere-
memories drift from cloud to cloud,
descending on us all, like rain.
soon we'll all have the same experiences,
perhaps a universal existence.

but, anyway,
if I could live as a child again
this is what I imagine I would do:

whenever it was hot,
like living in the Valley hot,
I would occasionally find a concrete wall,
lift up my shirt,
and press my stomach upon the cool,
letting the solid grey
permeate across my skin.

cool, finally cool.

and now that I'm old, and will always
consider somethings a little too late,
I know how to weep like I'm old.
in short, dramatic, gasps,
with only a few tears.
and the hot flows down my face.
shame, maybe, or impassioned anger
over promises broken.

(just like a child knows that
she was born with something wrong
and someone needs to come and fix it)

and I lift my shirt up and press my stomach against
the grey.

cool, finally cool.