Retreat

When the weather’s as hot as a marshmallow roast
Or the orangey wires that turn bread into toast
Then the person who will be complaining the most
Is – you guessed it – uncomfortable me.

For the heat makes me sluggish and ughish and such
And when skin gets all sweaty and slimy to touch
I won’t venture beyond my own walls very much
Where I relish the humming A/C.

There are those who do well in the 90-plus heat
But I’ve learned, through the years, to acknowledge defeat.
When the mercury’s up, home becomes my retreat
And there’s no place that I’d rather be.