Don't like the weather? Move.

It was about 80 when I woke up this morning
and muggy as hell.

After lathering and rinsing,
I painted on my clothes
to take an arhythmic trip to work.

everytime I stopped,

someone
described in poetic detail
the despicable weather

I smiled.

It's so much easier
to arc my lips into that
than to to waste
dozens of cubic feet of oxygen
explaining freedom to them

they don't understand thunder,
raindrops, and blazing sunshine

they'll never understand
liberty.