The year is old - very old,
December - month of the zimmer
frame -
The white stick -
the broken shoe -
Earth piled brusquely on a
paupers grave -
The slow depletion of memory.
Snow soft falling - grey - not white.
Snow soft drifting through a broken
window.
Snow freezing the eyes, the ears,
the tongue -
Snow in the mouths of hungry canines
Snuffling for bones in frosty gutters -
Snow in the cap of the squatting
beggar.
Snow - slush ochre - in a vandalized
pram.
On the loose in cities - through deep
concrete canyons -
Dogs scavenge in packs - restless -
snow blind,
Tundra bred thugs - safe in a gang -
piratical in a crowd.
They scatter in terror if a car
back fires
Or a child aims a snowball -
Long ears flapping loose - like galleon
sails.
I sit in my back room writing this poem
Lost in my dreams while the old year
fails.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 1st. - 10th. - 11th. 2020.
