Hot House

It was a time when we lived on Pacific Street A place in Brooklyn, New York where we had to retreat A two family brownstone that was very hot in the summer The nights were unbeatable where you couldn’t even slumber Our only escape was Coney Island where one could catch a breeze It was the whispers of air and feeling at ease A night to feel relaxed The thought of hot making one perplexed The summers I will never forget It was those nights that I regret Even with the fans you couldn’t cool off The hot house being no mystery of its own It is my history and I am letting it be known.