The Summer of Discontent

The hot streets
are spewing venom
as I observe
from within the comforts
of the tinted glass
and endlessly complain
about the artificial cold
that’s keeping me away
from the summer of discontent

The tinted glass
is stuck
between the two worlds
but cracks will appear
as we near
the summer of discontent

Hope is burning
under the lens of pragmatism
we’re all masters
of here and now
but we can’t anticipate
the stink of the flesh
that will burn
in the summer of discontent

There will be
no mercy
no shelter
no refuge
every bridge
will melt and burn
and August will be
the cruelest month
in the summer
of discontent

Deiter has made a monkey-dance out of this.