Ode To A Summer's Rest

I've been away for awhile enjoying life with no care.
Performing sports minded acts besides my scribbling.
Maybe I will play a set of tennis whenever possible.
Readers who know my style will understand this affair.

Stroking those yellow balls cleansed the cluttered mind.
Each forehand swung might start perhaps a new idea.
The sun didn't force the intellect to always think right.
Executing down the line was sometimes one of a kind.

And then the temps climbed in constant progression.
The AC in my room no longer kept the air normal.
One hundred degrees saw the onset of rising humidity.
Sadly the cooler went under a disastrous commission.

I ordered a fan from Brook, but it didn't get here yet.
Purchasing online might be faster but not always.
Instead I suffered another time for the relief to arrive.
I focused on my PC whining and getting sweaty wet.

My erotic erodes on the screen remained ever vain.
Black ink appeared to just dry out in my Epson printer.
These sizzling degrees were not meant for creating odes.
I turned the PC off and said, “This effort was insane.”

I contemplated to myself my rhymes will have to wait.
My phone keeps ringing requesting me to play doubles,
Or just go out and practice hitting balls with a friend.
Summer is a time to rest my craft for another day.

by Monica Engeler

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