The Loathsome March Winds bite like a poisonous spider
Icicle fangs dripping with toxic waste from a deserted factory
Its frozen webs whipsawing cars on the Causeway Bridge
and slicing commuters in half who wait for the delayed LIRR trains
My house is pummelled by angry fists from an invisible witches coven
Mother Nature can be a real bitch when she doesn’t get her beauty sleep
Old Man Winter annoys me like a preening politician or lazy co-worker
Pot holes and exhaust fumes from school buses filled with comatose children
offer me little comfort as radio static transmits another drunken memory
From fried brain to guilt sensors that howl like a blizzard snapping off tree limbs
always running on overload
Windows Updates never slow them down
I pull my Hyundai into the uneven and crumbling parking lot at work
Always alone except for my doppelganger who drinks too fucking much
The only time women are drawn to me or my car
Is when I hold out a fistful of twenties to the streetwalkers under the overpass
The heater, by some Religious Edict from the 14th Century, works well
Offering them temporary solace from the Loathsome March Winds
ANGER AT THE END OF THE WORLD 
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