A Prose Poem
Winter doesn’t keep me from drinking iced cold Bustelo from my Tiffany’s crystal glass as I look outside my open window to see cars finally released from their snow cubbies which kept them immobile for over a week. Cars race beside them, and I’m left wondering, how long have they been free from their captivity? Mostly since my car still lay untouched across the street. Snow slowly melting off its trunk nestled snug in between snow storms that preserve its winter capsule.
POMPrompt #22 — What’s out your window?