42 Degrees C


a wailing tune seeps from the radio,

snaking around the car's interior between beats of the ageing ac unit,

its slithers of cold air supplying priceless oxygen

in this bubble amongst bubbles,

swapping lanes, backing up, breaking free,

bubbles beeping horns in a tunnel of fizz.


closing in, pulling together, pushing apart.

a social experiment of polar pluses,

defying the laws of living.


pockets of cool grazing against,

- then throttling through -

barriers of heat,

sending them hurtling up and over,


battered by the next bubble.


bubbles of comfortable cool,

zipped up against the heat.

dismissing its oppression with contempt,

floating in freedom.


i slow down,


the angsty air climbs all over the car,

frantically clawing at the window,

oozing its hungry breath down the windshield.

grinning inanely at me as its face follows, and its palms spread out and slide down,


under the chassis.


with a push of a button.

i burst my bubble.

and almost immediately its tentacles sucker to my face,

stealing my breath.


i compose.


capture its world.

seal up my bubble,

and push through.

its slithery mass dropping off

and retreating

before curling up,

snarling, hissing, spitting hatred.

as its deposits are clinically devoured by dollar cool,

supreme order is restored.


there is peace once more in the bubble kingdom.