Last night
there was much rage
at the local laze-park.
The police and the commoners
clashed ideas and heads
in the heat of
social injustice.
And it was only mid-April.
A teenage loner,
much too furious
to play by the rules,
killed six and himself
on a sunny Saturday
in the heat of
social apathy.
And it was only mid-April.
An asylum-seeker,
thrown off balance by
the crooked wheel of Western justice,
set himself alight
burning fierce and bright
in the heat of
social marginality.
And it was only mid-April.
Last night
there was much loose talk
about holiday and future plans
among the clubhoppers
and their ha-ha friends
in the heat of
tropic mid-April.
I said to myself,
“It might as well be summer.”
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