A California Heat Wave Poem, or Adjusting to Fall in the Mojave Desert Instead of the Midwest

Some Tongue-in-Cheek Verses From Our Managing Editor

Photo by Mehz K on Unsplash

Autumn is my favorite season
Or at least, it used to be.
For some complicated reasons,
Fall is now, sadly, dead to me.

Now that I live in the desert
There's no September reprieve -
I am mourning, even, yes, hurt
I miss the changing of the leaves!

I haven't noticed one straw maze
Or signs for an apple orchard
No cider donuts, cake or glazed
What is this?! I'm being tortured!

The stores have clothes that I can't wear
I'd keel over from heatstroke
No sweater or ankle boot can bear
The wind, the sand, and sun - they'd croak.

And where am I to buy carnations?
My mini pumpkins and my gourds?
Someone, please - how in tarnation
Do I find my fall decor?

Scented candles are still melting
Pumpkin spice lattes just feel wrong
It's hard to knit or work on felting
When it's 110° all damn day long.

And really, that's the problem, there:
It's just too - way too - freaking hot.
Heat turns wistfulness to despair
I think only of where I'm not.

Take your hay rides and football games
Your stupid cashmere cardigan
Meanwhile, my state goes up in flames -
I just won't let down my guard again.

I won't expect snug, rainy days
I won't expect the heat to die
I'll let my "fall" just slip away
Until it feels like Christmas in July!