by- Matthew F. Blowers III

It's a refrigerator outside

backpacked school kids

are mustered in yellow slickers

and some are playing catch up

near the corners of this

vast icebox of an April morn

S-Mothers and Pop-sicles stand

a non-embarrassing distance away

amidst the clouds of their breath

waiting patiently for that giant

orange-yellow cheese block on wheels

that carries their chill-dren

off to cultured places

16 bloated birds,

all puffing up their feathers

to keep warm

squat like butterballs around

my well stocked feeders

they remind me of

tiny stuffed turkeys

thawing out only

to to be re baked

in the solar oven to come

I would invite them in

but they would most likely leave

spatters of white

all over my studio

like renegade brushes

flinging abstract inspirations

My coffee is tardy this morning

but soon enough

I will watch it perco-late

into the joy juice

that keeps me sane

It's hump day

and if I were still addicted

I'd smoke a camel or two

but for now my rush

comes from blending poetry

with a couple of smoked sausages

and two eggs over easy

Later I will venture out

into a warmer April's embrace

and savor the Spring that is still

bouncing around between

the frigid-aire of winters past

and the Maytag

that will be here soon