The headache and a cloud
pattern fascination is yours
but I’ll not give up the sky
I’ll bequeath everything that
drags blurs or shadows
soul-surrounding pledges
excess solar energy is killing
me but I can’t see tomorrow
happen without it somehow
there were plans; a few weeds
to pull in a down-hill sinecure
along irrigation lines
a jaunt weighed against real
work – if I had discretionary
strength to discriminate
so I stay indoors, drink tea
and squeeze limes that fell in
the heat seeking relief like me
if you take the damn allergy
I will most graciously add words
used to express relief for free
© 22 January 2010, I. D. Carswell
