Dry eyes itching
It is summer
Come round again to burn us all
More cars
More citizens
Walking in circles under the leaves of trees,
The petals of flowers
Arctic daylight overstaying its welcome
Teenagers cry out into the 5am darkness
Drunk and high
As old men try to sleep
Dry eyes closed for a few hours
In the cool grey shade
Where the ghosts of old ladies still hide
Nowhere else to go
Nothing else to
Do.
