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Wrote this in a sunny classroom in the summer of 97. |
Something Else Tired of Christmas, I left my family To nuts, liqueurs, And “The Great Escape”, Made my own escape, And came in search Of something else. Now I sit, thoughtful, on cold stone, Contentedly watching The snow-covered, Deserted town square, Ancient-abbey ruins Pressing icy flints Into my back. Bare hands wrap The too-cold can Of “Abbot Ale”; My head is light from food and drink. I glow with a dreamy, cold-set smile. In a nearby ally, A dog barks resentment At merciless winter, Lonely sound muffled By a blanket of settled snow. Through bitter, empty air Cuts a biting, wintry breeze That makes my jeans as nothing, Claiming my legs in an arctic ache, Burning the bones of my feet. A car noses lazily Into the Narnian square, Engine purring softly As though cotton-wool-wrapped, Tires tiredly crunching The fresh crust Of all-levelling white. Around the abbey wall, Beneath the frozen shroud, Rises the subtle sent Of suffocated earth, And a subtler sense Of animals and plants In winter hibernation. The smell of Christmas dinner Is melted away, Along with after-mints, Drambuie, And gunpowder. |