It’s really hot in Boston. I’m sure you all can relate.
The sky is a sapphire blanket
That rests on the peeks of skyscrapers,
And the Sun? I’d like to thank it
For burning the city to a good simmer.
The asphalt looks like running rivers;
The cars lumbering barges on the current.
And I do not remember how it feels to shiver
Since it is so hot and so apparent.
Seafood is the summer’s spread
And it is so hot that I can cook mine
On the floor of my living room or in my bed,
Since it has reached one hundred and nine.
Honestly, I want summer to be over
Because Boston is meant to be cold.
New England get your act together:
Why the fuck won’t it snow?!