London’s hot
it steams after a night of thunder
the parched ground shows signs of run off
leaves cluster amidst lime flowers
beaten to the soil by the deluge in the darkness

the people and their movement
seem slower in this airless humidity
even the conversations sound quieter
as if the storm softened their bark
as the day unfolds in the bright light
the brief freshness of last nights downpour is a dream

lunchtime in a small Italian bistro
the green of pesto as fresh and promising as springtime
outside the humidity sets the pace of afternoon
always a little awkward in the heat
London slows to a shuffle
unwilling or unable to fully accept a Mediterranean day

eastbound weekend underground train
heads overground for Liverpool Street
an air conditioned sardine can
filled to the gunnels
noises blending and contorting
to make a music as yet unfound

moving through it on a breeze,
in a daze, removed yet present
words cutting my pathway home
London is hot
it waits for another night of thunder