An instrument of glass and metal–
Which isn’t large–in fact, it’s letal–
When filled with red goo, slush. or such,
Tells us it’s hot, and just how much.
And this so-small man-made creation
Can give a human heat-prostration:
For just to KNOW how hot it be
Will multiply your misery.
For me, I know it’s hot enough
Without thermometers and stuff;
I’m MUCH more comfy not to know
It’s 90 in the shade, or so!
Walk up to it and take a look–
Right there, you REALLY start to cook!
I. too, would look if look I dared–
I tell you frankly: I am scared.
A fearful lack of sympathy
Have I for folks who say to me:
“If you’ve a second, my good sir,
We’ll look at my thermome-ter.”
Or, “Hot enough for you today?”
(The things I THINK that I don’t sayl)
Humidity escapes attention
If it the dear folk wouldn’t mention.
So let the temperature soar
To 99, or even more–
I won’t know how hot it is
If I close my trap, my neighbor his!
When sidewalks peel, and crack, and blister,
Please keep your old statistics, mister.
That “Ignorance is surely Bliss”
Applies, at least, on days like THIS l
by Ray Romine Saturday, June 5, 1943
