It’s cold outside and wet as well
This time last week was hot as Hell
Assuming Hell’s like 30 C
(The office number next to me)
On a northbound bus
On a bright, hot afternoon
On the right-hand side
The sun descends
The heat abates
The work week ends
When you were young
You’d grab a brush
And paint the town
Now, there’s no rush
The cricket choir
Finds its tune
The rising moon
You raise a glass
Here we go
Gazing deep into my fridge. It’s
Not that hot, low triple digits,
Probably less hot than hell.
I think I’m dealing with it well,
But heat defeats my appetite;
Might end up standing here all night.
The crickets in the yard’ll be
In need of Aspercreme by morning,
Judging by the frequency
At which they’re chafing their thigh-warning.
I don’t mind the noise they’re making–
Sounds like I’ve been telling jokes–
But knowing that I’ll wake up baking
Leaves me hoping it’s a hoax.
Crickets! Man, they’re funny folks.
Observation: When it’s pouring,
Rain is ipso facto present.
When it’s lots of not, it’s boring,
Arguably, but it’s pleasant.