Calendar Caliente in Couplets for August, 2023

     Published at PWWL years ago and 

currently more relevant than ever.

      (8/1)
It’s hot! (Tres hot: luke warm it's not.) 
Ann Miller got it: "...too darn hot!" 
     (8/2)
Da's AC's shot. Ma's…? Gone to pot. 
Cole Porter'd jot it: "...too darn hot!"
     (8/3)
It's hot! (Think not…? You don't know squat.)
So-o-o-o hot one's snot tends not to clot.
     (8/4)
One's nose approximates a Brät, 
while lucid thoughts turn most exot-
     (8/5)
-ic: dream scenes fraught with Lancelot 
and Ladies of Shalott, Mahat- 
     (8/6)
-ma Gandhi, Andy Kohut, Lot-
te Lenya, diva Montserrat
     (8/7)
Caballé, sheiks who reek of rot-
-ten leeks in oil of Bergamot, 
     (8/8)
or else Benoit B. Mandelbrot 
(whose fractal "aht" I like a lot).
     (8/9)
Be you quadruple bi-pass’d tot; 
be you the Hoople christen'd Mott; 
     (8/10)
don pinstripe, check or polka dot; 
inhab McMansh or vacant lot; 
     (8/11)
prefer weak tea or pepper pot 
(if tea, ami, that says a lot);
     (8/12)
be sri or sultan, late of Swat, 
prefer straight lace or gordian knot;
     (8/13)
be you robotic or karat-
-e maven -- you may need a shot --
     (8/14)
if not, at least some bottled wat'... 
("Some what…?" you query.) Water, twat!
     (8/15)
("Oo-o-o-oops! Just the fluid I'd forgot.") 
Who's else is hot (though Turandot...
     (8/16)
is not)…? Why, Robert Falcon Scott 
of the Antarctic: "...'Sbloody hot!"
     (8/17)
Who else is hot…? Hell's Margey Schott, 
pro-Nazi sot: "Mein Gott! Ich's hot!"
     (8/18)
(Who else is hot…? Anwar Sadat.) 
My cot, though in a shady spot,
     (8/19)
feels, lately, like a lobster pot: 
it makes me wish I'd got a yacht...
     (8/20)
...or could lay hands on your garrotte. 
At least, thank god, I  need not trot...
     (8/21)
...(tho' true, I do, more oft than not). 
But why's it hot...? Have you forgot...?
     (8/22)
America's a "melting pot." 
In any case, there lies this spot --
     (8/23)
it’s but a blot, a teensy dot – 
a beauty spot quite comely…? Not! -- 
     (8/24)
upon die Sonne...done! It's hot. 
(Or, like as not, some knotty plot...
     (8/25)
...of Aeroflot's, or, p'rhaps, Pol Pot's.) 
Kool-Aid, it's said's, verboten: "...Dot-
     (8/26)
-dot-dot-Dash-dash-dash-Dot-dot-dot..."* 
Yet, 'til the Trane Man** states he's got...
     * Morse code's 'S.O.S.'

     ** Not the great jazz tenor player but 

         the heating and air-conditioning maven. 

     (8/27)
...our S.O.S, it's still hot, wot! 
Some cooler spot to plant one's "bott"…?
     (8/28)
You'll find no tittle -- not one jot. 
Say...is it me or is it not...
     (8/29)
...just that much hotter since I sta't-
ed jotting down this Ode De Hot…?
     (8/30)
It's hot! So what…? There's simply 'not-'
hing to be done...but kvetch alot.
     (8/31)
Cole got it right: It’s too darn hot. 
(Ol' Cole's a rotter: too damn hot!)
     (9/1)
How's 'bout a cool September song…? 
("September In The Rain"’s not long.)

More Bad Mothers (from "Bum Mums, Nursery Edition")

      Goose 
A gander is her chauffeur,
an aide she paid big dough fer.
The head of her security's an owl.
And she...? She's, plain to see,
from clan Anatidae.
It's clear: the atmosphere here's (fairly) fowl.