Heatwave Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Heatwave

It is early, but the petrol station is open
and since it is already hot, I buy two big bottles of cold water.
the heat this morning is ominous it holds no promise
of summer and fun, more like the door of hell has been left open
I hear the screams of those who are burning forever (one would
think the body would be impervious to pain)
I don´t want to go in yet sit on a cold stone bench drink water
and dream of swimming naked in the lake of love.
Of course, the lake has gone as has its tributary, the river running
from the hazy mountain.
Suddenly it hits me over the head, the voice which says,
you are 81. How the hell did you manage this?
The news isn´t helpful either saying the heatwave is no suitable
for anyone over 74.
Do they think I´m English?
I drink some cold water pretend it is from a well somewhere
hidden in my imagination of an oasis and palm trees.
I think wouldn´t it be not very good if I invented a pill that made me
younger and younger till I disappeared unborn.