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:
No A/C for me.
Nature’s coolant moistens me.
I am wet with sweat.
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.
Weezie: Great haiku!
Red: Wow, Emily Dickinson? Robert Frost? I can only hope! Then again, great poetry is oft borne from pain...
The woods are lovely, hot and deep
but in this car I think I'll keep.
In this car, I think I'll keep.
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