The parka may as well be
a hazmat enclosure:
I can hardly see sideways
without twisting stumbling
like a drunken child.

Thuggish gangs of snow
blow haphazard
around my thudding boots
impervious to the gravity
threatens to haul me down.

Whiskey in the flask
in my pocket clatters
like dice in my fist
the memory of it
into my chest like ice inhaled.

Icicles hang on my eyebrows
nostrils lips like leeches
restoring an attached limb
shooting stars with
of old wounds.

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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: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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