So, this is the morning
in February’s malaise.
Doesn’t this kind of thing
normally wait for summer?
The beleaguered cadence,
the mild hostility
that breeds indifference
and malice.
Oh, how I have missed you,
my cunning rabbit warren
of reason
and hatred
and vanity.
The world is so boring,
so righteous,
so indignant,
without your swanky bitchiness.
Oh, February;
I long to see you go,
so I might make a pass
at your brighter, longer sister,
who dresses in lighter clothes
and doesn’t constantly remind us
that we gave up our resolutions
2 weeks ago.
No one cares
that you don’t get a birthday every year.
You’re an adult,
buy your own balloons.
As many as you want.
-HG
