This one’s going to be trouble;
can’t you see it in her eyes?
Her fingernails are dirty,
there are grass stains on her thighs.
She wears pants instead of dresses,
and her lipstick is too dark.
She’s been hiding in His playground,
it seems the Devil’s found a mark.
I’m going to wander into you,
with my coat and my tunes,
my warmest winter boots,
and the coldest soul I can muster.
To watch my breath blow away in the wind,
melting snowflakes, smelling of gin.
I can’t wait to photograph, the 3-5 inches,
the most snow I’ve seen (or will see?)
all winter. I’ll stand on the bridge
(that bridge) to record the moment where
rivers freeze instead of overflowing.