the color on my arms is leaving me and the
tan on my
face has also gone the way of the leaves. I'm staring
down another harsh cold and the darkness leaves me
tired by three.
May's motivation and June's relaxation are far
leaving me only with the cold prickly feeling of
January and February's static filled air. Full of the
wrong answers and off color jokes. Suddenly no one is
laughing quite as hard —- the smiles of the city's
summer crowd are in hybernation for the long, dark,
The flu is abound in office spaces along the main
avenue and the dancing princesses of the city's summer
now find only time for shopping and nesting with
winter season's boyfriends who prove to give just
enough to reach March's hint of spring.
Warm, sun filled skies and happy elders play golf
under the heart-comforting sun of the southern
beaches. Why can't the 20's live there too? Why must
they fight the crowded traffic-filled city streets in
the ice and slush that only reflect the grey sky of
Oh, Concrete! Be with me or be away from me but
please don't leave me with dead leaves, grey skies,
and snow for another seven months. Please, Please!