Making chutney instead

 
I can forget the weather
even that
private storm in my head
is sure to buffet itself out
before the sky caves in

But there's no escape
from bad news
bombshelling every room
doom-pooping the day
around piles of unripe tomatoes
rescued from slugs
on my own front line

Vinegar stings fat eyes
mourning lawns
too dry to mow
Spice and sugar shame
my glut
screaming louder
than distant voices
drowning hungry
in Pakistan
a world away