I count the grass on the ground.
I count the clouds in the sky.

Summer is happening.
People are complaining
about the heat and humidity.

Air conditioners are conditioning.
Aeroplanes are flying overhead.

Other people are occupied with
their own dramas and situations.

Me, I am just being quiet. Not
looking to talk with anyone.

I am thinking of how matter of
fact the Doctor was when he
shared his professional opinion.

As if he was talking about the
hot summer weather; as if
the temperature was crucial.

I listened to every word he said.
Shook his hand and thanked him.

Strange how we fall so easily
into the habits we've been fed.

I count the grass on the ground.
I count the clouds in the sky.

I will never reach the end.
Will I ever reach the end?

Will I be sitting here, next
summer, counting anything
at all? What do the clouds
do when the grass turns
brittle and darkly brown?