The Monday Post, Vol. 19 — I’m Not a Poet, and I Know It

Writing poetry has never been my forte. Other than a few limericks when I was in elementary and junior high school, I have written very few poems. But the first summer I was in Oregon, without air conditioning and dismayed at how hot it was, I penned this little rhyme:

Summer

i hate the way summer
coats with molasses
drags down and slows down
everyone’s asses

i hate the way summer
sticks to my clothes
makes me feel nauseous
burns in my nose

i hate the way summer
has followed me here
longing for autumn
yearning for drear

i hate the way summer
heats up the house
makes the dogs pant
makes the cats grouse

i hate the way summer
has to come at all
i merely endure it
and can’t wait ’til fall

As you can see, Emily Dickinson I’m not. And I don’t have quite as much to complain about this year, being that I have AC downstairs. However, there is no way to cool the upstairs, making sleeping difficult until it cools off sufficiently at about 3 a.m. during our heat waves, and we are in a heat wave currently. Standing outside in the surprisingly strong Northwest sunlight for very long can be agonizing. I have no use for summer. How far north do I have to move? Even parts of Canada get heat waves.

Okay, enough complaining.  But that’s my mood today. Humpf!

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