Poetry

The Pride Before, 11 (224.)

Funny to remember the days before the heat got worse,
and the AC was cause for complaint.
“It’s too cold,” my frigid body said,
and off the AC would go for my comfort.
Now, I’m sweating bullets.
Now, water cascades down my gullet.
The day the AC malfunctioned
and stayed broken
was the day I remembered
how fickle we humans are,
how we always want heat when we’re cold,
and we want cool air when we’re hot,
and it’s rare for us to say
“This is fine and I’m content.”
This is not fine, and I’m not content.
I’m sweating like stuck swine,
and my body might be starting to ferment.
The transformation from
body to puddle, solid mass to sludge,
it has begun.
Sweet Jesus, AC repair person,
when the fuck
will you save us from this summer madness?

Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s