were gnarled and raw,
knotty and bulbous,
resembling a garlic bulb.
November was left outin the rain, in the cold wind,
stumbling through earlier
November’s hunched shouldersand drooped arms under
the bitterness of grey
November’s barren arms,empty of any reaching,
blown clear by emerging
sharp and frosty breezes.
November’s neck, sore fromtrying, feeling the weight
grow ever heavier, the pulse
of cooling blood throbbing.
November shuffles from onefoot to the next, standing in place,
trying to remember what warmth was,
what sunshine and sapphire skies were like.
November’s cheeks, ruddy and pot marked,sand and dirt blasted, eyes bloodshot,
foggy and muddled.
An ache lingering everywhere all over.
November is November’s nightmare.