stares woven eyed.
Towers wait to come down
as Winter glisters.
Sparse trees are very mute
but sharp swing of bus
says something frantic.
Thin girl in cream faux fur
with jitters and citric smile.
Cold air throws shards
for flabby hearts.
Xmas, is it?
Xmas. Xmas.
Sharp enough to cut your hand if gripped too tightly;
ReplyDeletebest to face this scene alone.
Wonderful poem.
X marks the woven eyed electric reindeer stare.
ReplyDeleteAgree with Red about the keenness of the cut, here.
(Off now with heart in mouth to once again brave the velleities of the winter night bus stop, half gloves small protection against the sharp edges of the spare season...)
Thank you, Tom and Red.
ReplyDeleteMay the Reindeer God keep the bus stop velleities at bay,