Post-Apocalyptic Weather

My window is presenting itself terribly.
The sky is in fascist uniform,
and the gates to the sun are locked.
White muck subdues the black tiled roof,
and the ruckus of the Thermo Kings
is the only sound, save for the rattling
of dissipating slush leaving gutters.

My window is presenting itself terribly.
It's abandoned the yellow star
I respectfully preferred
in favor of a nature that
I can't handle.


I think calling someone a "feminazi" is like complaining about the weather. Just because you think it should be sunny and warm all the time doesn't mean it is.