Curse At the Climate
My eyes tear up
As the frigid wind blows
encrusting my cheeks
and my snotcicle nose
Hands in my pockets
Strait legged jaunt
Skin touching pant leg
Is not what I want
Each morning like night time
The sun must be stuck
I curse at the climate
As I pre start my truck
My neck hairs all dancing
To chattering molars
I understand winter
But this crap is polar
Copyright © Joe Inka | Year Posted 2006
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