Is It Gray?

On January 11th
The puny, fake tree
Is still twinkling
In the receptionist area where I work.
Depressing ornaments still hanging
From weak limbs above a tattered
Skirt around a plastic base.

I consider the sky
Uncertain if it should be blue or cloudy
This deep into winter…

In California, this season is less dismal
Than in New Hampshire or Mass;
Both former homes of mine.
I do not miss waking up early on a crisp,
Bright, wintry day
To push heavy flakes off the deck,
Then shovel them to the edge of the drive
So Uncle Danny can plow
Ten foot high drifts of dirty snow.

Or leaving the dorm in my PJ’s
With a tray from the dining hall
So that I can slowly lift
Corrupted fluffiness
Up and over my head
From the space in the student lot
That I am certain is my parking spot.
This sweaty attempt to find
My tiny, white VW cabriolet
Exhausts all limbs, causing me
To overheat in the chilly outside air.

During these mindful escapes, I stare
At the lit up numbered buttons
Counting down to my car.
Making my way to the parking garage
With a multitude of my peers,
Anxious to start the weekend,
Is a much anticipated journey
As I dream of sleeping
Past 5:50 tomorrow morning.

Copyright © 2008 N.E. Tasker

This entry was posted on Friday, April 4th, 2008 at 8:55 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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