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.


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. :)