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29th and Johnson

I’m sitting in a church pew
As old as the man
For whom it was made to worship.

I have my foot on the base
Of my table to steady the top.
Not because I care
But simply to avoid spilling my coffee.

At the counter someone asked
if it was still snowing outside.

No, it’s not.
Yet, the reply was yes.

It’s the cold
It’s freezing whatever
Moisture is left and turns
It into sharp delicate crystals.

Angel Dust

A dual purpose euphemism
The first, a cute term to take
The harshness out of the cold.

The second, to deny us
The morality to curse the cold
In saying it’s god’s will,
Exercised at the hands of an angel.

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