Poetry Paints a Picturefog and smoke... are good for poetry

The morning fog

looked innocuous on it’s way in

while I was having my morning coffee.

But it brought with it Novembers cold!

True cold, winter cold, feel it in your bones, stoke the fire and turn up the heat cold.

The cold was slowly creeping up, working it’s way around and in, feeling icy cold as it envelopes your feet while softly moving past.

Creeping in like

WD-40 working on a rusty nut and bolt

and the smoke slowly curling up from my ma’s Pall Mall non filtered cigarette

and you knowing both of those are going to get the job done.

So top off your coffee, wrap your hands around the mug and contemplate if it’s cold enough to get your wool socks out?