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99 degrees Fahrenheit
The thermometer re(a)d.
The smell of tar
Bubbled from the blacktop.
It was hot as the dickens today.

113.5 degrees was the angle of the sun.
From its position of superiority,
It beat down,
Scorching everything in its path—
The fairways, the fescue, you.

1600 hours almost never came
Until it did,
And not a moment too soon, you thought,
Feeling somewhere in between
A puddle of sweat and jellybones.

Speeding home on the 405,
The sun assaulted your black leather jacket
With its vainglorious rays.
Weaving to avoid shimmering lakes,
Which were never anything more than a mirage.

22 miles of pavement
Passed underfoot.
At last, you made it home.
A rush of alpine air blasted your ruddy face
As you pulled a can of soda from the fridge.

39 grams of liquid sugar
Twinkling on your tongue.
Sugar snowflakes
Falling lightly down your throat,
Plucked from the sky above the Arctic Circle.

Polishing off Coke #1, you reach for another,
A smile gliding over your lips.
After a long, hot day tending the greens,
That red can of refreshment was once again
Worth the wait.

But as the scale creeps closer to 190,
Can you say it’s worth the weight?

Jillian Conochan

Jillian Conochan is a professional amateur; writing and editing just happen to be two current pursuits. Opinion range: strong to DNGAF.

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