Poetry: Reproach to December

Image credit: Max Pixel

 

December, you are the cruellest month. Washing

Pastel-grey skies onto boreal vistas – 

You charcoal grouch.

Trickling pepper-grey atmosphere, nonchalantly, through your

Slender, tree-tendril fingers, like god’s own ether,

Sanitizing the day.

 

You kiss out of us our dragon-breath steam, clenching 

Our lungs, vice-like, between your chops – 

You malignant bastard.

Savagely transfixing us with a meridian-wink of fervid, blood-orange sunblaze,

Whilst all the time waning the light, quaking with delight,

As you sap the world.

 

You make us forget, December. Asphyxiating

The burning fleshy tenderness of before – 

You stony deity.

Autumn’s marigold melancholy, sandpapered,

And then forgotten; bleared, and then subsumed into

Your all-encompassing crackle.

 

Why, almighty malcontent, must you wake us from our apple-slumber,

And douse us in Winter’s prophesised sleet, rousing the hangover

Birthed in Summer’s wine and Autumn’s cider…?

You, harbinger of reality; shrill and bleak, raw and cold:

This year, permit my gluttonous slumber 

And indulge my drunken dreams.

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