Heater working noisily against
The howling wind outside.
It’s ripping at the edges,
It’s crawling in over the window pane,
Sliding between wood and glass
Into the overheated room.
The snowflakes horizontal –
Like a train streaming by
Too quickly to wave a welcome
To the passengers inside.
No tracks visible to follow
Their way into the distance.
The New York Times yield no result,
The search engine neither.
The review, bitter cold,
Was lost on the way.
The one I’m reading now is overheated,
My cheeks burn red, and I shiver.
© jsmorgane (Jan 10)