On the Ending of Winter

The days have grown longer, The sun rises high
The cold days make way for the warm;
The bees and the birdies cavort in the sky
Like frat boys with liquor and porn;
The snow is a mem’ry to which I am lost,
The chill of the season has passed;
It’s ninety degrees in this blast-furnace breeze
Looks like winter is shot in the ass.

(first published on April 3, 2006)


  1. Published where? Totally worthy of the New Yorker, if you ask me.

  2. Why do I feel the need to sway with a pint of beer in my hand? Possibly a patch over one eye?