by D. r. Baker
New England winters
are awkward
to say the least
with the morning sun
arriving much too early,
he murmurs a pink
flare of warning
from over the steaming sea
before loitering
self-consciously in some
corner of the sky
for an obligatory hour or 2
making polite appearances
to pink-nosed somebodies
through their frosty windows
and slips off, almost unnoticed,
for some place in the West
where the days are long
and the action heavy.
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