The Unforgiving and Indifferent Sun

I’ve been acclimating myself

to this suburban desert

since I migrated here

30 years ago

to take this job

in academia.



In August’s stifling heat

I imagine

my Mexican ancestors

physically laboring

under the unforgiving and indifferent sun,

silently bemoaning

their plight to God

(who else could care?),



and I am privately shamed

by how disconnected I am

from them



as I sit in my air-conditioned

third-floor,

corner office

comfort,

vaingloriously

pecking at this keyboard,

trying to write

Poetry.