Brian’sPoems

Blippity-Bop

Blippity-Bop.
That’s how you start a poem on a Sunday
when the frozen rain has cocooned everything,
especially your feet, now numb to the touch.

Christmas is visible just up ahead in the distance.
Err, maybe that’s a shadow of the Solstice,
coming ‘round from behind.
Who cares?
The moment seems ruined this year,
like a misplaced joke,
or the unfathomable regret
for that which you can’t take back.

So blippity-bop.
Let’s get on with this holiday.
There must be something to do,
perhaps a different way to fix the mashed potatoes
and something new to drink,
which makes loving a little easier
until the inevitable first signs of Spring.