From a prompt from Julia’s Place.
The prompt: …the extreme weather meant…
100 words. Here we go.
FOG AGAIN, HE SAYS, CURTAIN PARTING
Fog again, he says, curtain parting,
Fingertips nearly numb with night
Still cold on them like blunt, iced hurt
The extreme weather meant to leave,
Meant to deposit on blued skin
Left from yesterday’s hard clinging
While walking home from the grocer.
Sun’s not coming anytime soon,
But brisk, he’ll walk again today,
Hurrying off, hoping to miss
The lovely girl who knocks at noon,
Who wants nothing but to drink her
Loneliness on the rocks, with him,
His cold fingertips so, so fine
For stirring thick, soulful toddies
On long, frigid afternoons.
Heart worn, he climbs the white hills.