Late summer (Poem)

walking home from school, a Siamese cat stares at us
eyes as blue as litmus paper bathed in alkaline

why does the earth stay in place? she says, and
why don't my friends like each other?

the sky is equivocating again, and the negative moon
hangs as pale as leftover porridge in the left quarter

all the neighbours' roses are shrivelled and gone,
just dusty brown fragments, and a few rosehips

it's so hot! she says, and I say, it really is,
let's get home and have a drink

the pavement heats the soles of our shoes,
and the flies won't leave us alone

why is it so hot? she asks, and I don't know what to tell her -
because it's summer, obviously, but maybe, too,

because the poor dear world is now a stew cauldron
and every year the flame climbs a little more

and every year's the hottest, and every measure
speaks in tongues of waste to come

but this is my child, so I don't say that;
I say, because it's still the summer!

and she takes my hand, warm and damp in hers,
and we find our front door.

- Kathy, 15/02/17