Another bubbling over the pot day. Makes me want to write a poem, but it’s hot and I’m lazy and maybe someone else will do it.
Oh, okay, I’ll get it started.
With temperature like water boiling,
My M.O.W. has set me toiling.
I lathered on some serious oiling
But still my back and face are broiling.
I’m being rendered down to glue.
Why can’t weeds get sunburned too?