a short taste
of Miss Spring, brief
bittersweet
not enough
to wet my whistle
or wet the thistle—
you’re not strong
enough, yet
Old Man Winter won’t
go away—
Mr. Freeze,
you bastard
your winds whip
back to attack
our buds
just budding
your blizzard blasts
blacken my resolve
and whiten the
new green promise
your screaming sheets
make me pull
the wool back
over my eyes
I guess I’ll drive home now
with my white car
on a pavement sheen
that’s plasticine
whiskey warmed
no ice
just neat
a long taste
fireplace on
snuggled—
home is where
I want to be tonight
troysherdahl 
Very well done – winter’s “stickiness” like a fat bratty child refusing to give up his seat even when his time is up. Ah, well, a good excuse for a stiff, neat drink 🙂
Your right, Eric, winter sure ‘sticks’ here. I appreciate your comments, man. Thanks for visiting!