Winter Meditation


January is a fat old man
with beetles crawling
out of his mouth, lips
covered in cankers,
a cantankerous bastard
who votes Republican
and hates children,
whose libido died
long before his wife did,
who wears ill-fitting shoes,
has long yellow fingernails
crusted with fungus
and only brushes
his black teeth
once a week, sometimes less,
wears a toupee
made out of cigar ash
and petrol, and eats nothing
but canned beans,
lives in a hut woven
from tabloid headlines,
thinks poets are pansies,
including the women,
takes money from Social Security
and still bitches
about the government
giving handouts,
doesn’t understand
this younger generation
with our huge dreams,
an obsolescent fuck
whose heart is a garbage disposal.

-r. miller


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