Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Restless Winter


This is the winter of my discontent
Even if it’s no longer officially winter
And discontent is overrated
And I think the meteorologist Betsy Kling has had her eyes done

For some reason I take great offense
To those who have had work done
Like they can’t simply leave well enough alone
Just look at Barbara Boxer the junior United States Senator from California

And I know I’ll be attacked for making disparaging comments about a woman’s looks
But that’s the point this isn’t about anyone’s looks, but instead about going under the knife all on account of what vanity because we need to look younger even if we lose our very essence in the process

And this winter that is no longer a winter breaks all around me like a gang of super predators and I’m not talking black, white or brown, but instead about my own fears and self-doubts building up inside of me to the point where there’s no more returning and Lot’s wife is a distant memory and I’m no longer concerned with what’s in the freezer uneaten and unwilling to thaw out

This is the winter of my conflagration
Where everything burns internally like there is no tomorrow
And that’s because there isn’t if you simply wipe your ass with the Farmer’s Almanac
And I’m just about through because this poem is all over the map and it’s time my dark night of the soul was tucked into bed and my shivering timbers were shot in the head

Charles Cicirella

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