The ramshackle kitchen, coffee is
on and hot, not quite as bone-chilled
as it has been for some
time now, February moving over
to its middle ever slowing days
yet fly by blink of eye and
where did all the time go.
No rules to govern the lost agency.
Sundown will-of-its-own rules. Wind
gust by window frames ever waiting for
the self same chill to leave my bones.
Saturday into Sunday, slog bogged
convenience store coffee after a short
stint of a drive over newly snowed
streets, thin sheen of angel flaked
snow yet potentially treacherous. Other
drivers cautiously follow and lead
ruby-red brake lights and wet wind
shields, slaver of drooling windshield
wipers, ice and mud slush.
- - - - - - - - - - -
(February 8th, 2014)
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