It is my wall against the sun, piles of all files,
handbooks or dictionaries I can find stacked
along this desk – a tottering tower between the
heat and I, covered with a lime-green cloth
framing my pink flowers – an act
Of rebellion against this building with its
rotten pipes so repair of central air-con is
impossible, sentencing us to hell as the heat
of a warm winters sun increases – making
winter so delightful in a city where
Buildings like Kingsley Centre are sheer
stupidity, floors north-south with one air-con,
north facing a southern sun heats up while a
dark south quietly freezes; we’re wearing cool
summer clothes in the north as shivering
Southerners cover up in layers of coats and
scarves; my query is does being a government
official have to mean suffering in either the
Sahara or Siberia –it is a condition of service
which I do not understand…
Tuesday 30 July 2013
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