Carl Stevens' Journal: A Poem For The Bitter Cold
It's way too cold for mice or man.
I've gotta get my can to a warmer land
Where I can find palm trees and ride bicycles, instead of dodging snowflakes and icicles.
I hate to complain, but I will anyway.
I'm weary of these frozen, frozen days.
My joints are cranky, my nose is stuffed,
I say "no mas", enough's enough.
I can't feel my toes, my teeth are numb, my elbows ache, and my brain is dumb.
The molecules of my mind can't move, I'm a Neanderthal who's lost his groove.
The pail of my spirit, I'm afraid, is leaking.
I can hardly recognize the words I'm speaking.
I think to the soul there is some harm,
When twenty degrees is considered warm.
Now I can imagine you might be thinking:
"What's he expect, he lives in New England?"
Perhaps I'm getting soft as I'm getting older.
The armor's not so thick on this aging soldier.
As i slip on the ice, or trudge through the snow, I wonder,
"How much more do we have to go?"
How many mornings, just how much longer?
Do you think this weather will make us stronger?
Do you think we'll come buzzing out of our hives,
When the mercury touches thirty-five?
I guess that's why we celebrate spring,
When the ice all melts and the robins sing,
When the sun shines warm on your thawed out skin,
And your mind begins to work again.
When the air is kissed by a meteorological fairy,
Maybe then we'll forget about January.
Listen to Carl's poem here:
