Heat Doesn’t Wave.

To try and keep this journal as true to my writing experience as possible, the following poem explains why things have been a little quiet lately…

Sticky fingers

scorching sun

barbecued skin

burning everything.

Sweaty arms

sweaty palms

break a favourite mug

The water only half visible.

Thick fat fog

only in my mind

as I’m trying to write

to get things done.

Then sleep…

yeah right

my eyes shut tight

mind buzzing

with lightening thoughts  

hurting my head

a wet pillow stuck to my bed

I need to shower again

after nodding off at 4am.

Honestly, the heat doesn’t wave

it smacks your body hard

turns milkshakes into tar

as flies become unwanted friends.

So now I beg each night

For the rain to fall again.

Note: Poetry has been incredibly difficult to write during the numerous heat waves. However, other, unplanned projects have taken off. More coming very soon!

Thank you for reading.