A Luxury

Today was ninety-eight degrees;
At least that’s how it felt.
I’m shocked that I am still intact;
I thought that I would melt.

But I would take this kind of heat
For months, all in a row,
Instead of what was perfect weather
Twelve short years ago.

For from those bright blue skies above
The world came crashing down,
Releasing so much sorrow
In its tears we all could drown.

Complaining is a luxury
When there’s no glaring threat
And I feel fortunate to whine
About a little sweat.