Fried Alive (Revised) Poem by Margaret Alice Second

The golden sun creates lovely silver sparkles within,
shining directly, beautifully on these windows with the
air conditioning set warm to bring heat to the ice-cold
southern side of the building; heaven sent until heat
accumulates, conspiring with the north side sun to
reach 30°C & causing headaches, I have to flee

Mdm La Pompadour rarely visits but is compensated
for dereliction of duty amply with a separate office and
her own air-con; we brain-dead idiots come every day,
lacking enough common sense to avoid the heat, to be
roasted – hot air-con and the sun raising a delightful
fricassee atmosphere of 30°C

As a brain-dead ‘enjoying’ a bizarre fate of hot air-con
and sun combination I deal with chronic headache by
upending bottles of water over me, then freezing when
going outside – supposedly accepted mode of official
suicide by fools insistent on being incumbent roasts,
fried alive, grinning while sitting in their chairs…

8 May 2013