December, Mid-Day Poem by Robert J Meyer

On this day that has lost its mindfulness
Of blossom and aromatic fecundity
Of casual life, splurging its vitality
On birdsong and squirrelish chatter,
I am waiting for a break in the clouds.

This day has long since lost
A fresh blanket of snow to the
Skirlling tires and plodding pedestrians
Huddled in down and Dacron
As they battle the Chicago chill.

The streets resemble the bottom
Of a Pickwickian gruel bowl, grey
And slimy - none to appetizing -
Warmth drained (though every mouth
Smokes out exhausted air) .

I am left staring at the sky,
Hoping the ubiquitous dinge
Is just fleeting, despite the memories
Of similar Decembers unnumbered.
We are left to cower in the slush.