Sweat

The heat begins to rise
and our bodies moisten;
perspiration is nature's way
of cooling the body,
air conditioning built
into the epidermis.
An icy shiver of fear down the spine
transforms wet heat
into a cold sweat, clammy
and drying into hardened plates
of terror, heart-pounding -
only to remain itchy
in salt crystals along the
crevices of the skin.
But don't sweat the small stuff,
not sweat stains on sweat suits,
because neither industry
nor anxiety
ever stopped sweat from exuding,
never stopped sweat from transuding.
You will have to sweat it out:
diaphoresis is a medieval cure
to purge sickness from the body
through the integumentary glands,
the basic principle being
better out than in.
On the contrary,
if you can get your quarry
to sweat
it will improve your chances
of tracking them,
of trapping them
whether the mark is some animal,
some dupe,
some criminal informant,
or some other prey;
raise the temperature in the room,
make them work hard
while you remain cool
and patient
as they tire themselves out -
but if you work yourself up
into a lather
then the game will no longer be
afoot
but will have taken hoof
and fled.
They say horses sweat,
gentlemen perspire
and ladies glow;
but if this be true
then afterglow
is just post coital saturation,
and the glow of a bride
is just excretion
wrapped in a white dress,
and the glow of an expectant mother
is just the drudgery of the body
building a baby
and percolating through the skin.
We sweat when we strive,
struggle,
suffer,
when we compete
or indulge,
when we deliberate
or perform,
but the purpose
of perspiration
appears primarily to be
survival
under a sweltering sun.