Desert Days

Once more, a superheat enfolds us;
We sweat like porkers roasting on a spit.
The sycamores lose leaves, the cypresses despair
Of ever greening out their scraggly limbs again.
My marigolds are happy--I moisten them each morning,
Until the city's waterworks run dry.
The cretinous ivy that seeks to gain
A stronger foothold on my deck
Is, for the nonce, drought-daunted.
One-oh-one, one-oh-four, what's the diff?
Such crazy highs make ninety-nine
Sound ice-age tonic.
In years ahead, the mercury
Will likely climb to headier heights,
Spurring more fires, direr dearths,
Damages, deaths, newfangled disasters,
Punishments mankind richly deserves
For being so stubbornly feckless.