Minnesota

I’m done in by the snow

The blistery reality

Of ten degrees below.

In frigid cold I burn

My hands have lost to arctic frost

My toes are a concern

When in the biting wind

The bus is late

Passengers wait

Biding the biting wind

And oh the clouds of breath

Upon my lips

When the wind whips

The sun to sudden death.

Be careful watch for ice

They laid rock salt

On the asphalt

But I have fallen twice.