February, and the window's open!
Laughing the cold in like
there was no tomorrow,
I really should get up
and close the echoes resounding
around the room, but
laziness vomits laziness,
and besides, words flow now,
like melting butter left out
in a summer kitchen.
There's room here,
to yawn, to reflect,
to slap the morning silly
as I wait to see
if the postman is kind.
by
Ian Sawicki