Icy Winds, Mid January Blues
Sometimes it gets so cold that real men become snowmen
I often wonder how men survived the artic for days?
Icy winds
Icy winds blow
across my
knitted brow,
knocking the
cap right off of me,
smuuuush....a blue hat
bitterly blasted beneath
a biege mini-bus
just more
winter road kill,
my headless
hat lies splayed. My gloves are
not snug enough,
around my hands
as frigid fingers
forcefully attempt
to creep into the tight
leather bindings
holding my own
digits hostage. My toes are
ten metal slugs,
dipped in freon,
and expressing no feeling
in their humble
boot camps. My ears are beet
red and burning,
seeking shelter
in the bush
of my hair
they huddle in
convoluted shapes. My nose is
Mt. Mckinely
that snowy part
at the top,
and beneath
lie twin caves
filled with
stalactites
of frozen
nostril hairs
blocking all entry.
My hair has
been blasted into
frosty curlicues,
naturally blown,
and styled much
like Kramer
from Sienfeld. I am
a popsicle,
who is
sonless
because he
is in school
but thoughts of him
bring frozen grins
as I move
on through
the icy winds.
© 2010 Matthew Frederick Blowers III