there are still sunsets
in this shitty fucking world

the plagues have yet to find a way
of switching off the sun; of corrupting the adolescent sky
with its youthful adornments of gaudy pinks
and feather boa edges;

the clouds flaunt their freedom to us
running past the horizon
heads full of fancies
of elopement

there are still sunsets
though we may view them through windows
watching while we stew,
awaiting the egg timer’s click-click-click ding

we observe the tender orange rays
that arch towards the earth—
extended limbs attempting to
hold us, cradle us
evidence that the sun still cares
that anyone can still care
despite being 93 million miles away

there are still sunsets
while we host hell’s latest export;
a new cocktail shaker
of paper cuts and burnt toast
hailing from the nine circles
flaming deep below

obliterated by barefoot marathons on gravel roads
and ice cream that’s too cold for teeth we look up
and see the clouds bruise the sky
until it’s black and blue

but the weather is fickle
we melbournians know this better than most
‘if you don’t like it now, just wait five minutes’

the cool change will hit