The Bitter Cold Poem by Elena Plotkin

When winter comes the temperature quickly drops,
And Halloween candy gets replaced with cough drops.
Sweaters come out of hiding, as do scarves and hats,
mittens and gloves are unearthed like lost artifacts.
Boots stand guard by the door waiting for orders to march,
Coats thick and furry, have you barely fitting through the arch.
Layers and layers, with only your eyes peeking through,
and you wobbling under that strain of a least a ton or two.
Sweating beneath it all, as if it were pouring from a spout,
All the while, you're praying that the wind never finds out.
Coming home to a house colder than inside your own icebox.
cursing your soggy, damp excuse of a pair of warm socks.
Discarding each item as if you were peeling off a banana peel.
Hoping against hope, it all dries out and doesn't congeal.
Just in time for tomorrow's nice warm fifteen degrees,
chance of fog, ice, flakes, and blustering breeze.

(C) 2016 Copyright Elena Plotkin