Fuck your Beauty, sometimes.

poetry

For a moment I could bear
to watch the snowflakes
as they drifted past a streetlight,
but too soon the winds
blew me back inside where I
drew the curtains closed to keep
the cold air out, and touched
up the thermostat to just below
a hundred and three
according to the folks
in the other room.

I spent the afternoon counting
the pennies in my jars and
folding t-shirts that won’t
ever come clean after that
last brake job while the snowflakes
collected themselves
in smooth white sheets atop
my walking-path and Pontiac.

If the city has ever been more
gorgeous,I haven’t seen it, but
I’d give it all for a driftless drive
and maybe a snow-drift-free
drive-way, too

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