The golden sun creates lovely silver sparkles within,
shining directly, beautifully on these windows with the
air conditioning set warm to bring heat to the ice-cold
southern side of the building; heaven sent until heat
accumulates, conspiring with the north side sun to
reach 30°C & causing headaches, I have to flee
Mdm La Pompadour rarely visits but is compensated
for dereliction of duty amply with a separate office and
her own air-con; we brain-dead idiots come every day,
lacking enough common sense to avoid the heat, to be
roasted – hot air-con and the sun raising a delightful
fricassee atmosphere of 30°C
As a brain-dead ‘enjoying’ a bizarre fate of hot air-con
and sun combination I deal with chronic headache by
upending bottles of water over me, then freezing when
going outside – supposedly accepted mode of official
suicide by fools insistent on being incumbent roasts,
fried alive, grinning while sitting in their chairs…
8 May 2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem