Night lights, shifting trees
sirens roaring through the breeze
this was my commute.
***
Shorts in November
Like a temperate desert
inside our condo.
(Wish I hadn't traded my camel for a stick of gum just the other day.)
My lips, oil'd at night
in the morning have turned tight
because they are dry.
We've tried the nobs, sure
we've bled the ancient heaters
and still we are baked.
Though I don't complain--
o, I'm no longer sane, but
It's a warm winter.
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1 comment:
Open some windows.
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