91 degrees of confidence that I hate this weather

The heat burns and broils, it bakes the hard ground

I see wavy lines in the air

Inside I seek shelter from that unyielding swelter

But even here I know it’s still there

The high Fahrenheit has reached a new height

And Celsius shall see us from above

The temperature rises, putting me in crisis

As I wilt in this warm weather stove

My complaints all consist of how this persists

Though to be fair, my comfort’s around 70

And any in excess will often reflect this:

“We don’t need more heat, we’ve had plenty!”