Summer Afternoons
V
Valsa George
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Like an incandescent brass gong
The afternoon sun
Burns in the sky
Like a boiling pan
The asphalt streets send out steam
Scaring pedestrians to travel on foot
The rushing wheels
Raise spouts of dust behind
Turning starched white into muddy tint
The undergrowth rustles below feet
A match stick can ignite a wild fire
That might grow into a conflagration
The glass windows are coated with layers of dust
Sweat trickles down the grimy faces
Of those who toil in the open
Sunbeams pelt down like rain!
Under which parasol can we seek shade,
In this sweltering desert of heat?
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