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Title: Ninety-Eight In The Shade
Author: Joseph Crosby Lincoln [
More Titles by Lincoln]
Pavements a-frying in street and in square,
Never a breeze in the blistering air,
Never a place where a fellow can run
Out of the shine of the sizzling sun:
"General Humidity" having his way,
Killing us off by the hundred a day;
Mercury climbing the tube like a shot,--
Suffering Caesar! I tell you it's hot!
Collar kerflummoxed all over my neck,
Necktie and bosom and wristbands a wreck,
Handkerchief dripping and worn to a shred
Mopping and scouring my face and my head;
Simply ablaze from my head to my feet,
Back all afire with the prickles of heat,--
Not on my cuticle one easy spot,--
Jiminy Moses! I tell you it's _hot_!
Give me a fan and a seat in the shade,
Bring me a bucket of iced lemonade;
Dress me in naught but the thinnest of clothes,
Start up the windmill and turn on the hose:
Set me afloat from my toes to my chin,
Open the ice-box and fasten me in,--
If it should freeze me, why, that matters not,--
Brimstone and blazes! I tell you it's HOT!
[The end]
Joseph Crosby Lincoln's poem: Ninety-Eight In The Shade
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