Heat
Stifling,
Biting at my eyes.

The sun beats upon the roof.
Slanted walls radiate heat all around me.

My shirt
Bound to my back
By trickles of moisture.
Salt
Bound into the sweat.

It’s too hot
They say,
When a half year before,
They worried and whined
And bolted the door
For the cold bit their fingers
As heat
Bites my eyes
Never quite ready
For the summer.

And that is this country
Britain,
In a nutshell.

It’s hot.
It’s cold.

We’re just never happy.