Come Home (Winter is waiting)

Pictures of pretty girls in peacoats,

thinking of all the snow

I won't see.

Expensive cameras hanging around

Loosely scarfed necks.

Plumes of winter smoker's breath.

Skipping the season,

The slush and salt

Clinging to my boots,

Sand and sun

Stinging my skin.

And I wonder,

Will I be ok?

Or thrown

Into disaray-

Sweating in the

December sun.

Wreaths and candy cane poles,

All the Christmas lights I

Never appreciated.

My son building snowmen,

Looking for any hill

Steep enough to sled.

Skipping the season,

The circadian rhythm

Of a man from the north,

Deserted in the desert

Languages away.

And I wonder,

Will I stay?

Or be broken-

When you say,

Come home dear,

Winter is waiting.