sick of the smoldering temp reports.
Each visit to my mom is sweet,
but still I cannot bear the heat.
111 in the shade,
the stuff of which Hades is made.
No soft wind ruffling my hair.
No desert breezes in the air.
In fact, no air to breathe at all.
It's gone till further notice, y'all.
Evaporated, so they say,
till further notice. Oy vey.
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