Not a wasted day but a figure of eight basted
in midday heat; and glory be its hot out there,
even crows ceased voluble swearing earlier in
the piece this Sunday – tho’ a few caw newly
scripted expletives astutely off of a shady side
of the tree. They ain’t giving away or lowering
standards yet, worn doggerel to them isn’t
worth the effort to stay aloof or cool
And it is demanding even with the fans on full
stirring air into shambolic imitations of a tepid
breeze; even aired TV shows seem dramatised
into farcical theatre disengaged by lunacy –
who’d do sport in this heat you think, or even
go watch the damned thing
© 2 December 2012, I. D. Carswell
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