Ooh la la, l'été!

It’s Summertime? Who Knew?

Tucson Coffeehouse Poetry Writers topic for June: surviving the summer heat

In Cottonwood, the air outside is hotter than that Rolex watch you’re wearing, which, coincidentally, is similar— no, it's exactly like the one some kindly gentleman reported missing from his limo just a minute after you showed up.

And yesterday the temp in Red Rock topped a high seen only on the first and fifteenth -- payday, if I'm not mistaken, for your brother Curly. By the way, you oughta have that chat with him before your daddy finds his stash.

Bonjour and ooh la la, cherie, the air is sticky where it rises off the Mississippi, Natchez, and the Rio Grande. Hot. Damn hot. We oughta all go fishin’. Wednesday Tommy caught a trout, and by the time he landed her, that mama, cross my heart, was fried on both sides, golden brown and seasoned to perfection.

Here's a question: What's to do in Gila Bend in mid-July? Slip on your moccasins along about two-thirty. Find yourself a sunny parking lot and walk a block. Now take your shoes off. Voila! What you got? Beef jerky, mi amigo!

Mercifully, Tucson’s looking pretty temperate alongside Havasu and Blythe... and that’s the secret of the four-step strategy that I’ve devised:

ONE. Never, under any circumstances, go outside until the frost is on the vine. The Mafia could blow a bunch of ricin through your ventilation -- wouldn't make a bit of difference. Simply flip a switch to give your family instant ever-ready fresh-air tanks and comfy matching masks and pump your fist defiantly and do all this without a hitch without a break in rhythm of your marathon Monopoly extravaganza.

TWO. Have little jars of sand around to keep in mind the scorching highs in other desert furnaces, where even dirt burns. Think Afghanistan, where it’s a hundred thirty in the moonlight. After just a season, skin that started white ends up like bark of hickory, and Tucson, in your memory, seems positively wintry.

THREE. Get rid of all your calendars and keep the curtains drawn by day. At 9 o’clock it’s safe to peek outside. Amazingly, before too long you’ll open up the blinds and find that all the neighbors’ roofs are sporting sleighs and reindeer. Hesitant to trust your eyes, you scratch your head and holler to your better half, “Hey, Linda, honey, is it winta? All the vegetation’s dead!”

FOUR. Be wealthy. Health and happiness, efficiency and ambiance demand a staff of jolly servants for the polishing of silver and in order to ensure a bottomless reserve of life-sustaining ice cream, berries, key lime pies, and all the Dairy Queen in sight. In fact, the best if not the least expensive method of sustaining comfort —such that on the hottest day you’ll say, as all the world maligns it, “Summertime in Tucson? I don’t mind it” —

Buy your own DQ and put your luxury chateau

and pool behind it.