Heat Of The Afternoon

The sun beats into this room

Like a slave driver

Heating me and my awkward thoughts

To temperatures, which make blood boil

The paper called for rain

Never trust a paper,

Who can’t even get the weather,

Close to right

But, I do nothing to counteract

The heat of this room,

Just pacing

Back and forth,

Arms behind my back

Like a general planning

A strategic war move

But I have very little

In the way of interesting thoughts

So I take a seat

Look out the window

And wonder if it’s just as hot out there,

As it is in this room

© Dicky J Loweman 2015