By Richard LeDue


November snow feeling colder
than fresh hell,
and the same tracks walked in so much
that they don't even look human
anymore, while the weather forecast
is prerecorded and replayed
on the hour for those
who still own radios. 


New Year's Day hangovers
far enough away
that a lone leftover beer
from weeks ago
feels safer than a lettuce
bought after a long lecture
from a doctor about sodium
and high blood pressure.


Cold, crisp air waiting
like death having a nap in your shadow,
or is it your guardian angel 
using goosebumps to say hello?


Blue Monday laughter
sounds stale as moldy bread
that'll never be penicillin,
while feet aimed towards the closest door,
proving themselves braver
than eye contact afraid 
as someone looking in a window
when no one's home.

One thought on “Thoughts About Another Winter Bundled Up in Poetry

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