Fan

We’re dying in the heat
From our heads to our feet
Anymore of this I don’t think I can.
I’ve closed in all the shutters
My words shorn to mutters
When I finally thought of our fan.

Bought at OBI in Arezzo
And for a higher prezzo
I thought this was a machine that could would and can.
But it broke first time of asking
And instead of bloody basking
In red hot temps I drove back to the shop in my van.

This humid baking weather
Has stretched out my tether
Like a goat set to go on the lam.
But as evening slips to nightfall
And the heat’s bleeding awful
It’s then we reach for our almost trusty fan.