“Thursday Midwinter” by Donald Antenen

A funeral somewhere
pulls urn or pine
by mittens, caps, and cars
the missed love of poor old poor
down this year again

The vomit hangs tassels
and the man, vomiting
sidewalk wet with his refuse
fits to the trees
each to be sold and lit and gathered round
by other sorts of men
unfit for retching

Apportioned right
the world would be just as it is
unfair, forgetful, frostbitten
placed about for
puffed coats before windows
for curtains pulled against snows
piled under tires and feet

The sidewalk grants shadows
shopping banks and drifts
shaking hand rivers north
old fetches old, finds merry
friends churched and kids
stiff in homeless snow

The stumbled all still sleeping then
the sun keeps watch as wicked when
what cold delight unfastens fast
the shivering ties, the winter pen.

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