Poetry

Summer Bummer, 23 (175.)

The AC hums frequently,
seemingly continuously,
and it is very cold.

Inside, the closet door slides open,
and a hoodie covers frigid arms and torso.
Outside, even the short walk to check the mail
blasts sun rays like a cosmic oven,
and the difference is stark.

Methinks the AC was invented
to give us a brief respite from heat that swelters
on the little walks to and from interior spaces,
but in the time of remote work,
inside is all the time.
Stillness becomes the norm,
and the body
becomes an icicle.

Could be time to take a nature break,
to feel the sun
reach for my face.
I don’t like freezing.
But it’s better than sneezing.

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