Ice Cold In Alex

Hot sun, burning hot.
Rays of fire raining far.
Soft sand in every scene
and thirst.

A party lost, alone.
An oasis of technology
within Sahara heat.
An army in retreat.

Now here, adrift and baking
a giant dune is in the way,
a mountain of liquid sand
as dry as day.
Beyond, the road
but out of reach
upon this lonely sealess beach.

Push, crank,
push, crank,
and in the ground the wheels sank.
Harder than a distance race
in melting heat,
to drag the heavy metal beast
towards the peak
at trickles pace.

Cruel thirst.
Tired and dying.
Dry and cracked.
Aching push and aching crank
to turn the gear,
to pass this dune,
to drink a cool wet glass of beer.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.