(c) Nemuel Sereti (Unsplash)
Two Winters Ago
Cold snow.
Mortal combat.
Two winters ago, the city turned to ice.
Sheila, Kris and I slid
all the way to the bar.
It was safer to walk in the street.
We drank ourselves warm.
Dried off under pulsing disco lights,
Shook snow from our hair.
We were in league with city life and
we didn’t care.
Hardly any regulars were there, being afraid to drive.
We saw Dottie limp by looking especially bedraggled,
having to truck through the plow-made snow drifts
not wearing boots.
It was the night I picked up the drunk kleptomaniac.
Took him to my room then refused to sleep with him,
having sobered up too quickly.
I did give him a pair of wool socks then walked him home
several blocks, not mentioning the cheap pair of sunglasses
he’d ripped off.
A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Kevin Hibshman
Fevers of the Mind 
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