I don't know what the weather is like in your neck of the woods, but it is super hot around these parts. Even the evening can't cool things off, because first thing in the morning is still hot and humid. Blech. Soooo, in an effort to change the tide with wishful thinking...
This week's prompt is to write a cold poem. I'll leave the interpretation of what constitutes a cold poem to you. It could mean temperature, but cold carries other meanings and connotations as well.
Here's my attempt:
I found myself singing "White Christmas" this morning
for no apparent reason, except I felt that something
was out of place. Maybe the heat that never leaves
burned the tune into my head. If I could make a film
with a low budget, I'd make a horror movie named
"White Death." It would start with snow and finish
with two survivors riding out of town on a bulldozer
and discussing their favorite milkshakes. The sequel
(there's always a sequel) would start with the snow
melting and be called something like "The Flood,"
because there's always something to complain about.
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