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)
Published where? Totally worthy of the New Yorker, if you ask me.
ReplyDeleteWhy do I feel the need to sway with a pint of beer in my hand? Possibly a patch over one eye?
ReplyDelete