John-Ward Leighton

WINTER BLAHS

The sun is so bright
it stabs the eyes.
The cold is so cold you can hear it
much to your surprise.

My room has a chill
and the coffee in my cup has gone gagging lukewarm
I should shave but really at this point
don’t give a damn.

There is a high pitch squealing hum
so loud and pervasive I’m struck
a little bit
deaf and dumb.

The sirens start up
and the fire engines slither past my window
then the ambulance wails by
and the police are soon to follow.

Must be a special at the donut shop
seems to be the only thing that could attract a fireman or a cop,
Or some poor soul, frozen to death in a doorway;
an expected end to another sad story.

The new mayor has promised and end to homelessness
but promises don’t hold out the cold or the rain, its only political bluster.
They have managed to empty Pigeon Square
by taking away poor people’s carts and putting them in a locked dumpster.

Are they really interested in helping solve the problem
when they destroy yet more affordable housing?
They talk the talk
but still haven’t mastered the walk.

I rub my unshaven face and contemplate a hot shower
something to take the cruel wrinkles out of my glower
to say it’s the luck of the draws
or just another large dose of the winter blahs.