Cattle coolers shown up black and loud at 88 D.B.,
Sprayin’ water with half chilled air at naive folk for not.
Never used inside a building,
Much less a dwelling,
Ever housed the roar.
The H.V.A.C. handbook,
Won’t show them as a joke or not,
And nary a part of A.C. system’s psychometric chart.
A more effective ploy could be soaked shirts,
With motors at low RPM drivin’ fans efficiently,
Movin’ air without a vibe very quietly,
For max air movement happening per watt.
There are no engineers inside the nest of bean counters.
Oh for the love of enthalpy,
And pits left cool by fans and pumps pulling heat away at pace.
Og for the plight of a sweltering mass,
Suffering Hotlanta, Houston and Orleans,
Set free by loved A.C…
The Fox Theater First cooled in Hotlanta in ‘39 on peachtree street,
While pre war G.I.s watched Fantasia in technicolor and heard Tychowski in Stereo,
Loud and clear from E.V. folded horns, with southern belles and ease.
Hark! Now we are years four score later,
And mates have yet to rate,
The miracle A.C.
We’ve useless T.V. though,
With channels fifty three,
And NFL ticket,
Paid for by marketing.
But mates still wait for blow-up-dolls,
And bless-ed coool A.C.
Oh no don’t despair!
“There is no global warming!”
Said the bufooon with a smirk.
While the bastard of wine fetched them a perk.
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