So… bitterly cold. Hmmm how bitter?
Three-lemon bitter, six-lemon bitter,
Ammonia or sulfur bitter?
Nose running, brass-monkey cold?
No smiles. Winter of our discontent?
Drivers’ thin-lipped determination,
Eyes locked on the short to mid range.
Potential streetcar passengers,
Shoulders involuntarily at ear level,
Breathing into scarves, sleeves and gloves,
So covered up they would not be allowed in some places,
Terrorists or tired…. of this?
How many have rumbled by so far?
Couldn’t get on.
Air so frigid it tastes like steel,
Air so frigid it smells like aluminum.
Too cold for jokes,
They drop to the sidewalk and splinters into a hundred shards,
A laugh turns into a cough.
Where’s the bright spot?
Tiny kid bundled up into a balloon figure,
Big wool tuque on top,
Giant wool mitts at the end of the blown up arms.
Cheerfully oblivious, never the less,
Bending at an available joint, steadying the big boots,
Scoops up a big chunk of freshly scraped sidewalk ice,
Slowly claims his prize,
“Hey mom. Look what I got?”
Is it my imagination?
Is it colder downtown?
Is it the city itself or just the weather?
Whatever.
Chicken and egg.
Forget it.
Omelet and soup is the thing right now!
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