It used to be, when temps increased this much,
we’d go to chilly theaters, patronize
cool restaurants, or visit venues such
as water parks, or any enterprise
that by its situation or machines
provided shade and cooler moving air.
But this year’s plague restricts us from those scenes,
and lately fires kindle everywhere.
Supposed to leave our windows closed, we sweat
alone inside the rooms that bore us now.
We turn on fans but try to keep the smoke
outside. We fix iced drinks and stroke the wet
condensing on the glass. We made the how,
but still this summer seems a cosmic joke.