December, Mid-Day
On this day that has lost its mindfulness
Of blossom and aromatic fecundity
Of casual life, splurging its vitality
On birdsong and squirrelish chatter,
I am waiting for a break in the clouds.
This day has long since lost
A fresh blanket of snow to the
Skirlling tires and plodding pedestrians
Huddled in down and Dacron
As they battle the Chicago chill.
The streets resemble the bottom
Of a Pickwickian gruel bowl, grey
And slimy - none to appetizing -
Warmth drained (though every mouth
Smokes out exhausted air) .
I am left staring at the sky,
Hoping the ubiquitous dinge
Is just fleeting, despite the memories
Of similar Decembers unnumbered.
We are left to cower in the slush.
poem by Robert J Meyer
Added by Poetry Lover
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