The Time of Day When Clouds Break Up

Breeze tingles taut skin,
Clothes ruffle themselves around my torso.
God is probably watching,
Enjoying his work,
As it fucks with my shit.
The birds have finished hatching,
as the cold air makes them aware that
night time is approaching and that now is not a good time
to hatch.

It’s about 8 o’clock during the first summer month
and the park is looking less than inviting now.
What were once undulating, sweaty sods of soil
have reduced to dry
gluteus masses of still green.
God’s work
God’s own work
allowed to shrivel and crumble to a
molten core, dry as a bone, arid landscape scarred
by breeze.

Windows and doors slam shut
within the space of an hour and a half,
to create a barrier ‘twixt their hovel homes
and cold, cold breeze.
If I were to consider
leaving the house I would ensure
that I was wearing an appropriate coat or jacket
to create barrier between my taut skin
and their cold, cold breeze.

Maybe I am wrong about
the immoderate temperatures
that proliferate outside between 8 and half 9.
Maybe these are the winds
and breezes that bring the earth
back to a manageable level of activity,
to allow the birds and the eggs
to rest once more,
and maybe God IS watching his work as it fucks with my shit.
All of our shit.
ALL.