Why Keep Gloves In the Car
Gauge in the car reads 32, followed by 'ice',
then 32, then 'ice' again, ad infinitum,
as if you weren't already iced, already.
Geese in our lake celebrate, honking
is their holler, and not in their wake,
I turn up my collar, but O Ye Heavens--
Where are my gloves? And this,
my complaint to the powers above:
Sunny Florida? How quaint!...
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
