Having vowed not to complain
about summer’s rising temperatures
nor its squalling storms,
I lounge inside decrying the persistent hum
of the a.c. — Woe is me.
Apparently born to discontent,
I remember winter, vividly.
‘Twas then, when walking through drifts
knee deep and rising higher
I made that foolish vow.
And now, in leisure to repent,
the only entertainment affordable
to see is watching the electric meter
spinning wildly like a wheel of fortune
that will not stop for me.
Never satisfied, it seems, I sit,
mere sum of the self, wishing
for sun when it rains, for cool
in the heat, and suddenly I think,
July is just fine.
Thus in the throes of déjà vu,
I wonder if you, too, are sitting
in the comfort of your feathered nest
sipping from a beaded glass of tea
and wisely counting your blessings.