Outside My Window

The house is boiling

and the windows are open,

thrown upwards in desperation,

in the hopes air might move

and steal a little of this heat

away from us.

You are outside,

and I know this because

thunk, thunk, thunk,

is the only breeze coming in.

You have relegated the bin

to foam cylinder thing holder,

while you and a mate

take swings

with samurai swords.

I stay in the office,

eyes on my computer.

I will clean up the mess later.