Summer 2015

Summers here are stifling

But this year it feels even more so

The first August in this house with no A/C

Small bodies beside me writhing

My pillow drenched in perspiration

A roach crawls over my arm

Desperate for fresh air, I step outside

Where the humidity isn’t as relentless

I wander the streets and find some respite in convenience stores

On another night I rest outside the museum

With a tall tree overlooking me

And a breeze gently stirring

I swat the air hearing the whine

Of tiny bloodsucking beasts

The 10-day summer festival is over

Sights of pilgrimage groups bearing banners

Loads of fife and drum bands

Floats with music blaring in the nighty parade

Youthful dynamism, vibrant energies abound

Ironic isn’t it?

The more summers I spend here

The more I get the feeling

That I will never







            Never ever belong here



There may be a glimmer of hope

That it’s quite possible

These three children will feel otherwise