In the silence of the afternoon

Late in the day, in the silence

of an afternoon, the sun’s full

and may go to bed soon.

I can’t eat anymore rice

it gives me dreams.

I know I say I don’t prefer lunch

but you know that I secretly

crave a pickle and something

tender, to soothe these fickle

eyes, persuade them to shut

if just for a respite.

A vacation, from all the

working machines, within

my peripheral sight, toiling,

complaining, angry that

I can’t be reached merely

by extending an insincere hand.

Who says there can’t be

rain on a scorching day

to soothe the pain

a life can accumulate?

Photo by Charles Postiaux on Unsplash

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