Yelling at these errant children
like I'm their mother,
only I'm watching
grains slip
back to the sandbox,
pouring over my feet
and pooling in my lap like water
from the bucket in my hand.
My scalp itches as ambient humidity condenses
to mingle in a slow drizzle
with the sweat already dampening my brow.
Mouth agape, I tilt back my head
for a sip of summer
only to choke a violent, bloody hack
as the sand slides down my throat.

Infernal eternal internal interrment?