The days grow short; we’ve set back all the clocks.
Snow smooths the landscape into blank simplicity.
Indoors, we face the “thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to” — static electricity,
I mean. And though I know my flannel socks
Aren’t helping, there’s a special infelicity
In choosing whether colder feet, perhaps,
Are worth it for the sake of fewer zaps.
Tags:
#poetry #(static electricity has not been a big problem for me but this has a nice ring to it)
Brinens and Things 