BANGKOK SUN

Red splashed sun sparks harshly

In that last hour,

As if days were doomed

To dusk forever;

But it’s just a gesture

Of a jester,

Fooling us,

Jocular, and clever.

Then, by morning,

It’s there again so bold

That my eyes can’t scan it

As daylight stirs,

Smudged across

Those murky smears of smog,

Staining, streaking the horizon

With its blurs.

Then, for much of the day,

It hides and seeks,

Playing a game with shadows

And pale light,

It spurns and burns away

The bashful clouds

That must be gone

Before tropical night

Falls to quench

The cranky sky of sunset,

And yet heat lingers

So we can’t forget.