by Nancy Canfield

Created on: July 25, 2009

Those dismal, cold and snowy days, now a faded memory,

Ice covered cars, gale force winds, Jack Frost nipping at my knee,

Goose down coats and fur lined boots, are packed and stored away,

To wait for next year's blast, an unrelenting arctic stay.

The warmth returns to long chilled veins at the onset of the thaw,

Our gardens burst with color, and our eyes reflect our awe.

The rebirth of summer's glory is gratefully here at last,

And we soon forget the ice storms and the blizzards of the past.

The temperature's still rising, as I struggle with the screens,

And because of winter snacking, I discard old cut-off jeans.

Where'd this new roll come from? What happened to my waist?

No bronzed and glowing tan yet, more like cream of wheat, or paste.

The weatherman is smiling now, talking ninety-two degrees,

I'd like to take him by the throat and squeeze.., and squeeze..., and squeeze.

A searing sun, no ocean breeze, no relief for us in sight,

I un-stick myself from my leather couch, and prepare for a merciless night.

I thank God for air conditioners, as I lug mine to my room,

While all the time ignoring the thousand watts it will consume.

As I jam it in my window, my thumb gets jammed in too,

My dainty mood turns sour, the air in my room turns blue.

Dripping in sweat and bleeding, breathless, aching, and totally spent,

I curse the day I welcomed the Summer of My Discontent.

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