This small hut is closing in, on me

anxious energy burning within

the boring stale air

the household chores

contemplating the dirty bed sheets

that litter my floor

the broken record of weather, news, skipping

frozen in time

snowbound blues, all boxed in

NOT amused.

Over-consumption

stuffing my moods

with winter’s brew and howling winds

pacing this room, milking

the season, dry teats depleted

shriveled with fever

icy bones re-heating the leftovers

of last night’s abhorrent gloom

feeding my anticipation of

winter’s impending doom.

©Jay Mora-Shihadeh