Blizzarding

He is like a New York snow storm.

You may know it’s coming and

you prepare; strip the shelves,

or try, in the end, to buy

breakfast food because fuck

if you know how to cook;

stock up on booze, and several

different types, in an effort

to be carefree like a tiny

excitable addict.

He is like a New York snow storm.

You wait and wait,

and everyone talks about it

coming, for so long beforehand

you think it will be so boring

when it finally arrives, it can’t

possibly be worth it, but

then you’re drunk and heading

home and you feel it breathe

a sigh on your shoulder, every

thing in the air just descends, and

all of a sudden it’s here, coming

down all around you, convincing

you that you are living it; a blizzard

or, at least, a snow fall. In the worst

and best of places; an understanding

that when you hold your breath here

everything, somehow, lingers.