November's Saint
November’s Saint
I watch Truman’s Capote's tale
in November
the south, trapped in frost
bare, naked to the eye
a penury of snow
like poor folk clothes
hardly enough to cover
the jagged edges of bones.
a boy eking out love
as a winter bird
searches for warmth
huddled against the wind.
days sad and drab
the only colour in paper kites
and dime movies
shared with a friend.
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