Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Ode to a Broken Air Conditioner


86 degrees is the temperature at midnight in Oklahoma City.

The A/C at my office has been broken for over a week now.

There's absolutely NOTHING cooling us down except for fans. My studio is in a room without windows. Everyday when I arrive at work, I feel like a beaten man.

This is all coinciding with an intense heat wave in Oklahoma City (luckily, things will start "cooling down" later this week; highs will only be in the mid-90s).

I thought I'd write a poem about it.


Ode to a Broken Air Conditioner

Sweat trickles
down my forehead
smearing the illustration
I struggle to realize

My crotch is not a crotch
But a microclimate
Dank and dire
It is a world that knows not relief.

'Ere, but I shan't complain
Early peoples did not have A/C
Heat was hot
Crotches were damp
Things stank.

Still, I rage
I rage, rage
against the dying of the A/C
And that has made all the difference.

4 comments:

Weezie said...

No A/C for me.
Nature’s coolant moistens me.
I am wet with sweat.

Red said...

Love the Emily Dickinson meets Robert Frost style to your Ode, my dear poet. The philosophical question remains: are we worse off than the old peoples, who knew not the delights of freon-infused cool summertime and dry crotches, since they knew not what they were missing? Discuss.

grizzard said...

Weezie: Great haiku!

Red: Wow, Emily Dickinson? Robert Frost? I can only hope! Then again, great poetry is oft borne from pain...

ziggy stardust said...

The woods are lovely, hot and deep
but in this car I think I'll keep.
In this car, I think I'll keep.