the sidewalks are heated pans
the grasses toasted brown
the breezes are hot blasts
the wind cooks the air still
the sun sits low owning the horizon
sullenly emitting its blazing fury
how nothing feels brief
interminable
it and we all go on and on...
tomorrow arrives
with more of the same
weather forecasting
like a fortune teller:
some will perish
some will sizzle and fry
some will pray for a snowflake
maybe a dash of winter relief or
for that a bucket of ice cubes
might fall down from the sky
to quench our misery and
cool our impatient hearts,
swollen heads, hands and feet
remember
how we were plagued and plunged into
last year's deadly winter
now how we're plagued once again
pick or chose your poison
bear what the seasons bring
or dream of a distant oasis
or an island in the tropical rain
June 24 2017 4:25pm PST
legal copyright for this rant and also for
this writer Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted
site title Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World
