August Swelter

August Swelter

It's hot,

it's very hot,

it's really very hot.

The thermometer reads

eighty five.

The air is still,

very still. Not a leaf

is moving.

It's hot.

The air is muggy,

a film of sweat envelops

my body.

It's hot.

I move slow,

I drink glass after glass

of quenching Tang.

It's hot.

I think of January,

I think of the cold,

I think of the snow,

I think of the bitter winds,

I cherish the heat,

I cherish the humidity,

I cherish the sweat,

I cherish it's not January.

photo from web