Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Hot Flashes, A Morbid Little Almost Poem

in which the title is better than the text.
There's less misery at 100 degrees
in a wood cabin with miniature windows
on a sunny birdless, breezeless day.
Someone explain this welling up
and swelter.

2 comments:

Donimo said...

Very nicely put. Excellent image, alliteration and tone. This made me smile. Sorry for the sweats, but glad for your cleverness.

FridaWrites said...

Thank you. :)