The Way Things Really Were

O, the nights we couldn't stop sweating the porch no cooler than our rooms Enervated, we drove down to the lake where 'shore patrol' lowered the boom All those appliances that too often failed jalopies that wouldn't start in the cold Lights flickering with each drop of rain all those folks who at 50 were old Yet this is not what we choose to remember 'coz memory, thank God, is selective If not, who would ever reminisce over things as they were ~ so defective