A Rhyme at All Cost
(for J.K.)
Between you and me shall flower no love;
To Frisco, Bangkok, Granada — I’d move
If fervor for New York mine didn’t glow;
To threat of ill and gloom instead I bow
Through months of shadow proceeding solstice,
With ice and sludge, and sleet and such device,
You bear down coolly on convivial soul,
And corrode to abyss — so rendered foul;
With frost-burnt fingers and chill-sunken spine,
A scorched throat pleading for tetracycline,
A quick and mild course I’d set hope upon,
But polar vortex trailed Snowmageddon;
And while keener minds would seize time to read,
This lesser one binged on The Walking Dead —
Twice complete, how shamefully asinine.
How does one stand so vacant discipline?
I should flee to Mexico or Belize,
And set tropic sun to reharmonize
This bashed spirit slumping ever lower,
And see it again ascend to tower.
The fare seems fair, I’ve searched Kayak.com;
It’s right, I know from swell in my bosom.
I’ll sail like the spore of a dandelion.
Wait — I’m yet without travel companion.
I should put word out and await reply.
But if no one joins should I fold promptly?
If I don’t go now, it could be never?
I’m feeling wonky with cabin fever.
If I go I’ll abbreviate your span;
I’ll enjoy Mayan ruins, a tan and flan.
That’s it — it’s settled, I’ll beat you this year;
You’ll never again make of me a bear.
Photograph by JUN HUA EA
