On Sizzling Days

Who knows why the bald man
Lusteth over the lidless car
Only to flaunt, on sizzling days
His wrinkly, glistening dome
As solar rays propel his heart
So far from wife and kids and home
To a slicker world
Where swollen girls
May pause and stare
And (only in his mind)
To dream of a lusty affair
His money could be spent instead
On crushed black pepper for his naked head
At great expense and time and pain
Well, if it's good enough for Wayne.....

Who knows why the hot weather jogger
Poundeth the warping streets
As heat haze ripples above asphalt
And wiser creatures only stir
To drink and scratch and sparsely eat
How they trot in silver shoes
To the maniacal beat of Supernaut
On cooler days their lycra pants
Only languish in a sticky drawer
At thirty degrees the pain is greater
So loved by the stomping, perspiring self-hater

Who knows why the perverted gardener
Who beckoneth these clement days
And curses as he crouches now
As white sparks flash across his eyes
And bang and throb his salty brow
How he dreams of autumn winds
Inviting even chastened clouds
To temper the force of this staring sun
And men in black vans
Sit vaporised in traffic jams
Frowning at audacious tones
Of BBC voices with silly names
Andrew Peach, Fenella Fudge, Thomasz Schafernaker
As black dogs lie and pant
Abutted against the cool of kitchen floors
Their thoughts and urges
All reasoned by more simple laws
Than us humans who are so complexly flawed