Wet Head Times Two

Wet head Times Two.


Exit the warm,
improperly prepared,
for the sudden downpour,
from the mailbox back.
Bills got the shelter of my coat,
they would soak me later,
but for now
humongus splotches of
nature spit icy rain
in my face.
Drenching me with
January's pre-snow,
while a cold blast
of the old North wind,
accentuated the bitter bite
of the rain-sleet slop.
I stepped through the front door,
dripping on the hall floor,
and quite ridiculously,
as most humans do, I immediately
immersed myself in another shower.
Some hot massaging spray,
to invigorate my frosted flesh,
and then a good book,
and the fire
drained all the dampness
free of my flesh.


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