A Hundred Degrees and Counting

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The sunlight settles lazily into the air
making even the busiest of cats lay so their flank is to the floor
and close their mischievous eyes to take a stint of a snooze.
The rasberry popsicle melts like the wicked witch of the west,
dirtying a todler's arm with the sticky, sinly sweet substance.
The treeclimbers seek a shade beneath their favorite magnolia's branches
and lets those unsheltered unfortunates burn to crisp in the fiery noon-sun.
The fair turn scarlett as cooked lobster, and even the darker feel warm to the touch
with hints of pink showing on their unclothed shoulders.
Curse Apollo in the heavens -- there must have been some mistake!
Who would ever deliver such hell to us earthlings?
Grandmamas faint in the heatwave and topple over while doing their grocery-day shopping.
The grass glows like a verte absynth, shining somewhere in between neon and emerald,
brilliant, nonetheless.
The sand bakes feet and even the most dignified are reduced to doing some sort of tap-dance to deliver mercy to the soles of our feet as they scathe and scorch.
Sores appear tomorrow.
The temperatures soar and mamas bade their bambinos to come in and save their health.
Even children give in to the temptation of resisting their mothers' will
and meekly march through the door.
The gentle susurrus of lawn mowers ceases, as young men
put hands to foreheads and give in to the harsh climate.
Sahara-lands. Why have we built lives here? They ask themselves.
Hot day, to say the least.
Summer at last. Oh joy.
Another ninety days to bear.





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