Thursday, September 26, 2013

On A Snowy Day

I wrote this early one morning after trucking through the snow across campus to make it to my English class. My ankle was hurting that day, and I was cold. So this was the result of all of that. By the way, this poem doesn't rhyme. I guess it's another free-form or maybe it's just a descriptive paragraph. I dunno, I'm not really good with the whole "labeling poems" thing.

(c) A.F. 2/21/12


Heavy white globules fall from a sour-milk sky.
The Heavens are as smog, and crystal ashes flake down in swarms.
Ankle throbbing, gnashing contemptuously at the bitter cold - squealing in protest
Like a hog before slaughter. 
White mixes with brown and the sidewalks turn to sludge.
Slipping, stumbling, sliding along slowly like sluggish snails that leave a trail of muddied slush.
Black boots, brown boots, tan. 
Leaking, slowly seeping into cracks (like the cracks on your chapped, blanched lips).
Icy-wet fingers slowly stretch towards knitted socks; liquid frost-bite licking at those fleshy digits.
Where is the Sun? Where have the deer gone?
The squirrels?
The birds?
It's a Waste Land outside.
A wintry graveyard immortalized by Joyce. 

(c) A.F. 2/21/12 

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