Steel grey days, that splay
In an indiscernible way.
Purgatory is Michigan winter.
Life buried beneath the freeze,
Barren trees, more barren trees,
You heave the heft in winter.
Cold bridge, car in a wreck,
Weather breaks your mother’s neck.
Our hearts as barren and bereft
As a goddamned, endless winter.
Yet here I am, decades later:
Middle aged Michigan man.
Still haven’t crossed that bridge
Or jumped the span.