Not so hot on being too hot.
August 7, 2022 at 3:47 p.m.
...by April Ryan
When I was young, ninety-degree weather was a treat.
I slathered baby oil for slick summer tan head to feet.
A handy spray bottle of ice water to keep misty cool,
or dive in the deep end, splish-splash at the city pool.
Sunset showed winterized skin glow-in-the-dark red,
covers flung…body burned, sizzling like bacon in bed.
Blister, peel, shed—underneath it all—a sweet tan line.
Then, another dose of baby oil for “summertime fine.”
A six-day heatwave over ninety degrees proves I’m aging.
Hot-hot-hot and sweat-sweat-sweat—climate changing.
A breezy fan, I’m like a pup on an open-windowed car ride.
Nightly drive-through dinners: milkshakes and food fried.
Recalling, “If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.”
Sweating in places I didn’t know will sweat—a sad admission.
I have discovered it is true, “It’s not the heat; it’s the humidity.”
But if the heat is above seventy-five, I get grouchy and fidgety.
April Ryan, a Seattle poet and writer who is not so hot on being too hot.
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