Sunday heat

There were witnesses
on the scene of the crime
they saw our bodies
carefully clustered
inside our chairs
staring sheepishly
at computer monitors
incapable of changing
anything:
the dreadful weather
our fears and misconceptions
all those daily creeping fatalities,
those little dead fairies
unavoidable victims of boredom.

There were witnesses, you see
they saw us
bearing this unthinkable Sunday as one
this very same day
lived as two different people

they saw us

screaming, helpless
and nobody called the police
our parents
nor God.

They left us:
white silhouettes
drawn on the pavement
of this week's twilight.