Heat crackles with the cackling of laughter,
shatters in brittle fragments
with the sparkle of broken glass,
glints like restless water,
and my head throbs with the whiteness of it.
Why so much laughter
and red shafts of anger
when all else is quiet?
Too hot for birdsong,
when the dust rises and drifts
on the wind of traffic noise.
Evening comes in a hot belch of exhaust
and the stink of other people’s cooking.
No peace falls as the tempo increases,
and the staccato whine of the world
is a sea of needle teeth to smother in.