a short taste, a long taste

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

About troysherdahl

A blue-collar bohemian with a penchant for fine words and dirty jeans.
This entry was posted in poems. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to a short taste, a long taste

  1. Eric Alagan says:

    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 🙂

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