a frozen thermometer can
not be held accountable for
the lies it tells;

and while snow drifts
across the driveway and
sidewalks, recently shoveled
and covered anew,

i am holed up in a broken
car, a maroon lemon standing
in the same place it's stood for
these past three winters

using its skeleton
as a shelter, and within
i seldom speak or move;
plumes of smoke seeping from
the cinged end of what was once
a fashion statement but seems
now to be a faux pas,
they guide my thoughts
toward the moon and
other inconsequential things

distracting myself from
addressing faults of my own
is one of my more keenly developed senses;
i am aware of their presence,
but i do myself no favors
in their regard;

rather, i see myself
as that broken thermometer-
no matter how far
that temperature may fall
i can still claim that it's seventy two degrees outside
and ignore the obvious.

01/13/2009

Posted on 01/13/2009
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams