Summertime Blues

No, I don't have 'em today. 

Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. My fingers are more like icicles dangling over a cold expanse of keyboard.


But I like to go against the flow, and today is one of those days.


I thought it might be fun to dwell for a few moments on that now-delicious heat which has become so cherished because of its absence. In other words, I like it now, miss it, now that it's gone.


Posting this particular poem today also gives me an excuse for dragging out this self-portrait that occurred with the addition of a digital camera to my arsenal.


I noticed that my new toy had a self-timer.
Naturally, I had to try it; however, it seemed that nothing was happening. Finally, after several seconds, I decided to check. Just at that moment something did happen.


Surprise!


The camera was working, and the result was this blurry picture, snapped precisely as I turned to sneak a peek.


I thought it was the perfect representation of how I so often appear ... early in the morning ... late at night ... and in between ... always a bit behind schedule, and generally befuddled.


The poem:

SUMMERTIME BLUES


I've got those
low-down,
good for nothin'
summertime blues.

My handkerchief
has wilted,
my shorts have
turned to glue,
my socks have
already melted
and run down
into my shoes.

Oh, I've got 'em bad,
as bad as they can be,
those prickly-pested,
heat infested
good for nothin'
summertime blues. 
© 1995

(originally published in Capper's)
Today's word: blurry