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# Peri-Peri
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/peri-peri/
- Published: 2026-05-01T14:29:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:09:03.000Z
- Description: “Peri-Peri,” a rambling on perimenopausal heat waves on an unseasonably cold May day. Written May 01, poem 121 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo, "Make Yourself At Home," by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Generational, Humor, Loosely Hinged, Poems, Unserious, 'tis cannon, 2026, Could I be wearing anymore clothes?, Elder Millennial, Female Relationships, Friends, Friends show, Hoodie, Instant Regret, It's gonna be Mayyyyyyyy, Joey Tribbiani, Literally!, May, Moms Walking Crew, Nature, parenting, peri-peri, Perimenopause, Puffy jackets, Walk, with the furrrrrrr, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

Five thirty-one in the morning  
Alarm blares; why is it screaming?  
Right-o, I'd promised a friend  
an outdoor walk   
 before coffee,   
 before breakfast.  
How wise of my yesterday self.  
  
Consult the smart screen:  
40 degrees fahrenheit, cloudy.  
Isn't it....? Yes. It Is.  
 Yes, it's May first.   
  
MAY.   
 As in Spring.   
 And yet.   
 Here we are.  
  
Parka and scarf weather.  
Appalling.   
I blame Timberlake,   
implicitly and without qualm.  
(He's gonna ruin my 'hood tour.)  
  
I dress in two layers of pants  
and four tops layers,   
of which two are puffy.  
  
I'm entering *Friends* character  
Joey Tribbiani territory:  
*"Could I be wearing anymore clothes?"*  
Think I'll leave my gloves at home  
so I don't look like I overdid it.  
(Poor move, kiddo; instant regret!)  
  
Grateful for my miles of threads,  
I face the blustery morning.  
Soon realize a ball cap won't cut it.  
Turn back for a knit hat.   
It's MAY, right? Hmm.  
  
Meet up with my bundled buddy  
who says she feels "ridiculous"   
in her chic winter get-up.  
To which I simply point to myself   
and say, "You don't even understand."  
  
We shuffle, talk, chat and stride.  
We shiver and sniffle and chatter.  
She dabbles in work and personal;  
I mostly share office updates.  
  
We are of a certain age  
where thermoregulation   
and hormones,   
those ever-shifty minxes,   
vie to co-exist.  
  
By the time I escort her home,  
we have both clawed at the zippers  
of our down jackets, overheated  
and steaming despite the cold gloom.  
  
I trudge on twenty minutes   
further to my own abode.  
By this time I'm near boiling.  
Surely I will soon perish, I reason.  
  
I feel iphone haptics zing me,  
proof my child has awoken:  
  
"So U driving me to school?"  
Quick-to-follow second text:  
"**Or NO?**"   
  
What a little love-dove  
I've got waiting on me.  
I hasten my legs faster,  
towards her, and external duties  
despite my melty discomfort.  
  
Still seven minutes   
from my front door.  
I know I won't be able   
to cool off sufficiently   
to drive a motor vehicle.  
  
"Probably not,"   
I speech-to-text.  
  
Ellipses form in reply:  
...  
 ...  
 ...  
and then disappear;   
  
.  
  
She's thought better  
of arguing. Good.  
I swipe her guilt away  
from my mental dashboard.  
  
Can almost see my house;  
so close to air conditioning.  
Still all around me,   
bundled neighbors  
warm their hands together,   
blow visible breath into the air,  
stuff arms under armpits,   
prod their dogs to pee faster.  
  
Now I need to, go, also!   
One more hill   
and I am home free  
("*Literally*!" As my kid would say.)  
  
I huff and puff upwards,   
fiddle with the door lock,   
I break through,  
rush over the threshold.  
  
I emancipate myself   
from my puffer coat   
and my down vest   
*with the furrrrr*  
and my old collegiate hoodie   
the one with the   
too-small neck hole.  
As always, removing it  
proves a struggle.  
  
Next up,   
with increasing urgency:  
rip at a quarter zip long tee.  
Pull and tug   
at my knotted trainers.  
  
Wriggle out of jogger pants.  
Beg and contort,   
heave and perspire.   
  
I aim to unshackle myself from  
intensely effective heat-trapping   
high-performance leggings.  
  
I feel cooling breeze kiss   
my steamed dumpling skin.  
while removing toxins   
...and ridiculousness.  
  
Now disencumbered,   
I'm free-enough to dash  
to the closest power room.  
Ahhh.   
  
My brain temperature resets  
I regain access to my  
frontal cortex, and higher thinking.  
As I reenter the hallway,   
I am confronted by what   
my Self of Five Minutes ago  
left for now-me to find:   
  
A long trail of lurid-hued,  
mismatched, lumpy,  
torn-apart and inside-out  
clothes and outer ware.  
  
What even happened here?  
An elder millennial who marks   
day one of this three-letter month  
with a requisite recitation of:  
 🎶 **It's Gonna Be MAYYYYYY**! 🎶  
I should have already clocked it.  
  
Indeed, 'tis cannon that   
peri - peri - *perimenopause*   
would override a chilly stroll,   
no sweat.