The clouds look

The clouds look

Hazy and lazy from here

Drifting by

On the other side

Of hermetically sealed

Triple glazed windows

The only thing to be heard

Through the open french doors

Is the trickle of conversation

Between a Martin and its chicks

Housed in a well-disguised nest

Wedged behind the gutter

And the downpipe

How do they cope

In full sun

Without air con

So many die of dehydration

Under-prepared

For the dry spell

The old and young

Fare less well

But all are at risk

As thermostats rise

It comes as no surprise

Those poor souls on the outside

With nothing to lose

But their pride

Are the ones over-exposed

To the heat of the sun

Listen to the noise

They must be having fun

I remember Glastonbury

When I was young

It was muddy

Before glamping

How can I ignore

The nitter natter

Of idle chatter

Unless I close the door

And seal myself in

Shutting out

The awful din

Of life on the outside