"The DrEaD of Air Conditioning"

Bwoy one thing I must tell yuh, when yuh born an’ grow inna hot hot Jamaica, no matter how much yuh HATE the heat, when A/C lick yuh, yuh bawl fi mercy! 🙂

This poem is for anyone who can relate. I didn’t think it was possible to find coworkers who all are willing to keep the temp close to home. But when the bosses come in and flip the degrees down a few notches… -_-‘

• The DrEaD of Air Conditioning

The dead air stands still above my skin
drawing me in.
Seeping, Polar kisses under the layers of flesh
boring holes of mesh with its tips of icy fingers
it lingers, deadly
threatening to overtake my body.

There is nobody to stop it.
It wants control, maximum hold
over the heat of my scarlet liquid

Insipid is the attitude of this air conditioner
that keeps me prisoner within its grasp.
I know it will not last
but eight hours of work seems like a molehill
turned mountain

That’s something I can’t bear to climb
especially when time keeps ticking…
slovenly.
This frigidity is agony.
I WAS NOT BORN FOR THIS!

It may be madness to think heat is bliss
but for once I’m proud of hot Jamaica.
If a genie said I should make a wish
I would switch this for warmth on any given day
Just to bathe in the rays that may
dance in little spots of cold fire on my skin,
see my blood melting
in preparation for the next day’s pelting
of air conditioning.

© Shanese Whyte – Please don’t steal! If you would like to use my poem please reference it’s source and creator. ¡Muchas gracias!

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