Summer

Summer in these parts sears, scars and scares.

Outdoors no one dares, till the sun’s gone to bed,

We are nearly dead. We darken our homes.

During daytime no one ever roams; night becomes day.

At night people play. The one for nightly crime,

Needs to change his time. The streets burn in silence,

The taps run dry. Crows thirsty, beaks open and wide open eye

Search for rotting cucumbers the vendors discard.

Mornings are the saviours, with perfuming flowers.

Colours cry out loudly, flaming up forests

Bougainvillea trees dispel all others

And say, ‘only we.’