A poem that attempts to encompass a typical month of December, as experienced at the 39th and 51st degrees of Latitude, North.
So here you are: the Solstice Month and
The time for the calendar’s death approaches.
Full of darkness, your ever shortening daylight
Hours are eroded down to a trifling nub,
Of use only to school children, dinner ladies
And other daytime part-timers.
The mercury bobbles around the point where
Water turns from cool, life giving liquid
To frigid, life denying solid whilst
The cold winds carrying rain and sleet
And snow that bites into each little spot
Of exposed flesh, like playful kittens’ teeth . . .
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