Hunter Mountain On A Saturday

It was five degrees today, with a crisp slapping wind
Brown eyes watered, cried while being interrogated
Dry pretzel fingers cuffed to icicled black gloves
Nervously smoked like frail perspiring cigarettes
I still poured through the snow; Bustelo riding on leche

Amaury

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s