The Snow is Starting to Stick

 
You made it up this morning I see,    
beating your siren wings  
you finally made it to the page to start writing;  
a day off with the tortured poet.  
 
I’m sure you moseyed aimless  
as you got up to wash & pee  
wishing for less pain in your feat,  
then you made you a cup of coffee + espresso.  
 
In the bottle,  
there was one more slug of whiskey,  
and as you warned yourself about bad  
rhyme & timing,  
hoping it didn’t come back up,  
you drank it, decorously,  
charmingly, & neatly,  
and so that was breakfast.  
 
You tangled through the news without screaming
feeling tears running down your face –  
then a train, it rolls through the east bottoms,
rolling slowly towards Union Station.
Probably one of those old Warbonnets,
made by Santa Fe:  the Super Chief,
and can you believe it?  
 
It's snowing outside. But its February
and the snow is covering everything,
everything except the sirens coming up through hell,  
blazing through the snowflakes.
And of course, that can be expected.