By Night Air-con Has its fans They whistle Ventilators sigh A balcony launches Brief bursts of language Out back, trash avalanches Then the bin lid loudly slams Hot kitchens exhale an oily steam TVs dream or ooze ill news from wars Cars purr, rub up, draw their claws, pause Loud people pour through doors, are absorbed Rooms murmur. Passing planes scrape at the sky Out here, asthmatic, I cough, silencing the single cicada And causing roosting birds in the planted palms to complain They pick up phones, call reception, are told that someone will deal with me