Poem: Weather Report

A poem that's taking a temperature

It’s a cold world somewhere. Just like”
it’s 5 o’clock somewhere. But it’s
too cold for beer — and it’s too cold

for thin walls and single glazing; colder
still if the stars are your roof and the wind
is your wall. But hey, elsewhere there’s

talk of beer-money, pocket-change from
side-hustle gigs, or the little bit of tax-relief
for “Hard-working Kiwis”. Safely home,

the heat-pump on to watcfh the news, to
have the food, to hug the ones they love, it
doesn’t stop it from being a cold, cold world.