snow fort engineers
plead for hot cocoa under
a birdless blue sky

December has come and nearly gone. I love winters but they’re nothing like the winters of my childhood. Where are the stockpiles of snow drifts and why am I still being awoken by birds screaming outside my window? Maybe I was just oblivious to seasonal imperfections as a child. Maybe the birds were always there and I’m just growing bitter toward them as I get old and senile. Then again, maybe the birds are getting old and senile and don’t understand that they’re freezing to death. Or maybe the whining, crying peddlers of “climate change” are right after all.

No, that can’t be it.

Pressure’s on January. Bring it.