It's Still Life

An Everywhere Poem: The Heatwave

The neighbours assemble on Facebook.
That house with no lawnmower.
Number 41, someone says,
with the dog.
That barks.

Dogs bark,
another says.

I’d like to complain
about feral cats —

that comment is
anonymous.

The pink peonies
are as big a soup bowls.

Foxgloves towering
beneath the apple trees.

He sits with one leg crossed,
scrolling Facebook,
reading me things
I’m not interested in,

sipping tepid coffee.

I decided to hate espresso
before I ever tasted it.

Then France.
Sugar.
Tiny cups.

Love at first sip.

Though I only drink espresso
in France.

And twice,
in Italy.

Wearing a bra
in this heat
is insanity.

So I’m not.

It’s 35.3°C.

Same as it ever was.
Same as I’ll be tomorrow.

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Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.

Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is authentically my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.