Time’s rhymes


Degrees Of Discomfort

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)

Friday Night Lightless

Friday night
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
Cool H2O
Another weekend
Here we go

Not Cool

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.