CLOCK OUT OLE MAN WINTER

Obese blue jay's and
fire engine red cardinals
fighting over octagon
shaped, stale cracker's,
matchstick tree's lined
with ebon, liposuction
candidate blackbird's,
as in the Alfred Hitchcock's
the bird flick.
Billowing snowflakes fall
from grace, as glitter,
part of Heaven's discotheque.
Zero visability, due to howling,
constant wet snow, as if a
ogre size bottle of White Out
has spilled,
adhering my world, once again.
It's been a long road
Please, Old Man Winter,
clock out of your shift.
Let chubby Robin's ole friend,
Spring, take things over, until
her shift comes to an end.
Then, Summer shall have all
the overtime, until we must
Fall back, once again.