Inclement Weather

We all crawl under the weather, despite pleading innocence, found guilty in view of a punishing sun. All have a stake in the ritual immolation. All hands on the console, fueling the inferno, every burning question turning up the temperature. Now the heat is unrelenting. The pressure intolerable. The weather unforgiving. No stay of execution from the governor. No pardon from the president. No absolution and no indulgence from the pope. No mercy dropping from above. Now, confessing everything we know, we cannot excuse ourselves.