hot days

when it gets dark it remains humid and warm the stars are obscured by a heavy haze the trees are so still as if two-dimensional a thick silence broken only by boy racers revving up Willett Way night’s muggy cloak stills the birdsong open windows bring no refreshing breeze my clammy body sags my brain slows to a standstill my eyes can hardly keep open my bones feel my age my spirit feels even older I yearn for days cold and wet, while realising that our selfishness short-sightedness and greed mean that future summers will be much worse while I’ll be even less able to cope.