Curse at the Climate

Written by: Joe Inca

My eyes tear up
As the frigid wind blows
encrusting my cheeks
and my snotcicle nose

Hands in my pockets
Strait legged jaunt
Skin touching pant leg
Is not what I want

Each morning like night time
The sun must be stuck
I curse at the climate 
As I pre start my truck

My neck hairs all dancing
To chattering molars
I understand winter
But this crap is polar