It is too hot

It is too hot

Without air conditioning

Imagination

Grows with repetition

Even the vibration

Of the washing machine

Is reminiscent of a disaster.

Somewhere

Bombs fall

My comprehension is shaky

The walls shiver

As if made of plywood

Hollywood images

Play across the horizon

Death is not glory

The word is

We should

Never trust justice

It is only

Meted out

In favour of the bully

With deep pockets.

Sunlight filters through

The window

It should be pretty

Somewhere it might be

But today

It is too hot

To disassociate

From the discomfort

Of complicity.