January

January is the coldest month, ushering
In the year, duplicitous janitor,
its hoary northern face is frozen shut
but under Capricorn is burnished
by the burning sun, where antipodean
winds coil clockwise into cyclones
with names like Daryl, Floyd or Billy-Jean.

The drought breaks intermittently, teasing
desert wastes with the monsoon prospect
of relief and bird covered inland lakes.
Meanwhile the city bakes and sucks power
from the failing grid. Restrictions are sent to
level two, public fountains are declared
unnecessary by the Mayor and dug up,
leaving a handy site for a monument.

Air conditioners roar, the old and poor
swelter and expire, while those secretly
watering dying gardens at night by bucket
or covert hose, trip and break a hip.
farmers pray for rain and ship off their
scraggy herds to the slaughter yard.
God replies with aces from the skies,
filling orchard nets to overflowing with
tennis ball sized hail three times in a row.
The price of veggies hits record highs.

Australia continues to thrash everyone
at one-day cricket. The court is littered
with spat dummies at the Australian
Open, when Leighton meets his nemesis.
In secret offices plans are laid to deal
with Iranian threats to the security
of the United States. Maybe we should
enjoy the freezing or burning of this
January, which might well be our last.