My grandmother's soup,
Served near a boil,
Had to be blown on, 
To let the spoon safely
Get close to my mouth.
Like my car's front seat,
Leather, sitting in the sun,
Absorbed so much heat
That I, in a Speedo,
Could not, if not, 
On a towel, sit down.
And blistering sand,
Midday at the beach, 
I, desperate, hot-footed it 
Down to cool water.
    But counter-intuitive,
    Aluminum foil, 
    Covering baked chicken,
    In a Pyrex dish
    Just out of the oven
    Has to be hot...
    So hot you can't touch it...
    But somehow it's not.
    I know that it's true, 
    But I light-touch it anyway,
    Just to make sure.