CXXX: The Seven Days of August: v

Then out you go, and all your pores protest,

for all the vapors of the seas are there.

Each ocean, lake, and puddle’s in unrest

beneath the boiling aether: brash and bare.

You hope that it might rain. It is that time,

when forecasts warn of deluges sometimes.

Would it be such a burden, such a crime,

to give us hope against this weather’s crimes?

But work is work, and now the schools are in.

You have no good excuse to take time off.

So on you go, into that world of sin,

that sin your pores so begged you so to doff.

Yet, after just a bit, they start to thrive.

It isn’t all that bad to feel alive.