The high sun

Scorching

Watching

A heat balloon

For passers by

With lives like cartoons

And laughs like fine foods

Which they would gently demolish

In hellish

Kitchens with prepared boards

Where they would call for 

Their mothers

Their other

Figures so attached

By locked latch

Under the high sun

Its radiance locked on

The passers by with hellish lives

Collapsing under broken skies