Saturday, December 12, 2015


Hours ago the heat
Surged past plain hot,
Bouncing off the concrete
Into my face,
Scorching, scalding
My paler tone of white,
Coming from skies
But not erased.
And the traffic moves
Like a lame tortoise,
Lurching on by lunges
To empty space,
Cars avoiding scooters -
The gap so slight
No human eye can see
The tiny place.
There is no remote refuge
On main streets
Amongst food vendors
And the well-stocked stalls
Standing in the shadows
Of Tesco’s fare
In air-conditioned aisles
Behind the walls.
There's barbecued fish
On an east-west lane
Where two-tiered houses
Form sunset’s frame.

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