Summertime, and the livin' is easy . .

Hot sun beats down on hapless humanity.
"My God!" shrieks a red-faced female,
"The car's a freakin' oven!"

He smiles tiredly,
loading shopping into the back
of his unconvertible life.

Was it always going to be this way?
He notices sweat trickling down her neck
as she fastens her straining seat-belt.

Her shades are smeared with sun cream,
and, for better or for worse,
her polo-shirt sticks to flabby pink arms.

Never mind, he consoles himself,
one fine day the sun will explode
and put an end to all this.

If his calculations are correct,
that should be
a week next Tuesday.

So hush, little baby, an' don't you cry . .