Friday, July 22, 2011

The Hot Seat

Both Poe and Frost were better men,
Much better men than I,
And better poets too, I’m told,
Which always makes me cry.

They wrote outstanding, perfect verse
In weather wet or dry,
And wouldn’t take an hour off
When temperatures were high.

But I’m a pampered, modern man
With brain and liver rot.
My sister says I’m ugly too,
But Mommy says I’m not.

When temperatures begin to climb
I lose my train of thought,
And if perchance you missed the news:
It’s getting mighty hot.

So if disjointed are my words
I blame it on the heat,
A case of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer
And lots of whiskey neat.

Now with the setting of the sun,
My day is quite complete.
I tip my hat to Poe and Frost
And beat a quick retreat.

1 comment:

  1. I hear ya! For some odd reason, doing yardwork always makes me forget about how hot it is. (Maybe it's 'cause it ALWAYS feels hot when I'm doing yardwork!) Tomorrow...the pool!

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