The Coolest Night

I go to bed before the sun has set; 

My graveyard shift a decade gone, but still

The master both of mind and body yet. 

This first of sev'ral bedtimes always will

Feel like the real one, but this time of year

It's least successful of the many. There

Up in my attic bedroom, you can hear

My podcasts booming through the stuffy air, 

The better to compete with noisy fans,

A-spin like windmills trying hard to fight

The heat that's built up all day long. No chance

That they can win, of course; no, not tonight. 

Someday, of course, I'll say that 88's

A temp'rature to envy, not to hate.