Heatwave Poem by James Smith

When idleness becomes a necessity and sloth a way of moving,
Then the heatwave has crashed unwanted on our fragile shore.
To remind us of our humble position
Just the right miles from the sun
Not too near
Not too far
Just right
Just.

In the endless time of unfilled days
Newly aware of each respiration
We await another prickled night
Of sweat and thought
And trust we are still
Not too near
Not too far
Just right.
Just!