Winter Poem

These days, I find myself moping in the big, bottomless chair 

of lethargy. Not even the cartoon-clouds in the sky 

can entice me to smile. I tried ringing the doorbell of Lady Luck, 

but her dapper-don husband answered and sicced the dogs on me.

Each night, the moon trains on me with its assassin’s eye,

And follows me around every corner and down every alley. 

The tiny winter sun is an absentee

that maybe calls every other Sunday 

and sends ten dollars in the mail on birthdays.

That cheapskate spent the rest of his money 

on a flight to the Southern hemisphere.

Some of the lingering birds braving out the winter here

tried to cheer me up by enticing me to sing with them. 

Their cause was hopeless, and I told them so every morning.

They eventually sent a crow to sit outside my window, as a warning. 

I liked the crow and quickly made friends with him. 

Now we tell each other dirty jokes and mock the other birds. 

Some nights we go out and get drunk by the lake, 

or meet up at the play set with the rest of his murder, 

pass around a joint and scare the passersby. 

We really are terrible fiends. 

Unemployed, I’ve lost track of the days and the nights, 

and I think, really, there is something glorious in this, 

something even downright brave. 

The educated call me nihilistic, 

the ignorant, just plain strange. 

Someone from the church came by to see me, 

invited me to stop in at any time. 

Last night at three AM I was drunk again, 

so I decided to take him up on his offer. 

Sure enough, the church was locked—

I cursed the lying bastard. 

I went back home to sleep it off

but my door was locked as well. 

I slept in an empty flower bed outside the church

and woke up to the sound of wedding bells.