Windy, grey, overcast day.
The temp gauge strains to reach but
Doesn’t quite manage to touch
Fifty-eight degrees of F.
This summer so far seems to
Lack those bruising torrid can’t
Breathe spells of heat that cause me
To believe that Global Warming rules.
The sun has a huge hole, or
Had, some coronal void
From which vast tongues outward bound
Lick the darks of space. No link.
Fear naught, we’re told. Not that, not that.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.