Having flown a long way the day before,
I realize I need exercise,
So I head out my sister’s door,
To the wall of heat that’s there to greet,
This Scandinavian, no longer versed in,
The nuances of the humidex,
How the temperature never ever reflects,
The actual heat and its affects,
So off I go onto Bartley Bull Parkway,
And I stick to it because I figure that way,
If the heat starts to melt my brain,
I can still make my way back again,
And walking my reflecting mind sees,
In Stockholm it’s 18 degrees,
But not here, as I start to sweat and totter,
And find myself searching somewhere for some water,
I buy some in a dollar store, to keep me alive,
(though I notice a dollar’s a buck twenty-five)
And as I wander on further in heat and in haze,
I’m amused by the thoughts my mind has in its daze,
For I observe as I go on my Bartley Bull track,
Italian & Chinese grandmas look the same from the back,
Soon I’m growing concerned, for odd as it sounds,
My mirage is a mailman doing his rounds,
Though it seems he is real as we chat about heat,
And the problems he has with the dogs on his beat,
He says when he was in Cuba last year they got snow,
I ask “Are you serious?” he laughs and says no,
Then with just a few steps I’m back at my sis,
Sweat from my brow greeting pavement with hiss,
And what North American wonder greets me?
I open the door to a wall of A/C!

(July 18, 2013 I travelled from my home in Stockholm to Toronto in my homeland of Canada. I took a walk through my sister’s neighbourhood that first morning, Friday July 19th. This is a true and accurate reflection of that walk.)