Saturday, March 16, 2019

Poetry: HEAT

Noonday is a torture with
it rebounding off the cracked sidewalks and
shine-top sneakers yet
without it
early mornings are
No water bubbling to
over cocoa rich like her
and the skins of the young women - girls some of them -
that parade the streets each day
No soup
over which to share
lunchtime humour reflections
on the morning's news - praying people ending up
dead politicians still not using their
heads celebs and wanna-be hopping beds and
faking degrees - wondering on the fate
- even the very nature and constitution -
of truth
colder than the first dewdrop
or the space between
feuding lovers
neither wishing to budge
yet both inwardly
acknowledging - sometimes despising - the
undeniable nudge
the first
merest  - inescapable - hint
of heat

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