Molasses In January

She’s a tedious lecture after a heavy meal, A glacier inching coolly toward the sea. She’s sluggish and poky, a dawdling bore, A long drawn-out adagio, a passive devotee. She’s tardy in attendance, and belated, as a rule. Her lethargic applications lack dispatch. Her dilatory effort winds the thread around the spool. Her needlepoint is anything but rash. Her slothful intervention into indolent affairs Leaves her anchor dragging in the mud. But even though she’s running at a laggard’s pace, I sit here waiting patient, as I should.