By William Doreski [Winner: 2nd Place]
--
The cold in my head is the climate.
Glaciers puddle at my feet.
The sea-rise troubles my horizon.
A hurricane roots in a sinus.
I want to shrug off this viral
cloud, but I also want to see
how the politics of the weather
result in shifting loyalties.
The angels of the north and south
meet with those of east and west
and cast dice for the one human soul.
I don’t participate in that soul
because my head cold anchors me
to the climate I keep coughing up.
Soon the embalmed planet will drop
into a bucket of dead tissue
and speaking for wind, rain, and blizzard
I’ll share kind words at the wake.
コメント