The Weather Inside
Just a smidge of snow, no more.
A bit of sludge underneath,
a little slick, but still, your tires find traction
and your day starts as it does most days.
It is never the weather, or the barriers,
or the things falling down around you
that stop you, leave you stranded. No,
it is only your heart,
still breakable as a child’s
in an old man’s body.
About this poem.
Some parts of me feel old. Some parts of me feel young.
The picture was taken from inside my second choice diner.