Walking In The Early Morning Drizzle Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Rain is falling.
This is an odd sort of winter.
Warm temperatures and dying.
Interesting combination.

Walking on the sidewalk.
Hood up, jacket zippered.
Sense of destiny propelling
my steps as I begin to
recite my eulogy.

Let it be said that
ice cream
is cold,
but
not
as
cold
as
the
autopsy
table.

Grass is still green.
Trees without leaves.
Solitary body tapping shoes
on
a
wet
grey
Sunday
morning.

Go on. Let the solemn time
flow like etched glass
into
the
veins
of
forever.

Humming a song to myself,
I change my direction.
Enough of outside.
Yes, I have seen enough.
There's nothing here
but the raindrops
and
the
man
with
limited
time.