you can’t drink whisky outdoors
when snow hovers over the ground
and ice is what trickles
from your nose in self-defense
and breath is fire that you inhale
through a hard wool scarf
and fingers exposed turn
raw red then white then black
and toes packed too tight
imitate fingers but faster
and you have to keep your toque
down snug to keep your ears
soft enough to stay on your head
—then what is summer?

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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