Cold Night
It was a cold night
January, maybe February
Midnight
Our breath in the air in front of us.
We walked 2 miles to get to the butte.
The ascent took 20 minutes
in coats and tattered sneakers.
The canvas on my shoes soaked through everywhere
except where the Converse logo was.
We sit at the top
Smoking ganja out of our beloved spoon pipes
overlooking downtown Eugene.
The night felt young, and so did we.
The last winter of my childhood.
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
OceanEyesBlueTides
I used to have an account under the name "The Frozen Arsonist" when I was a teenager and just wanted to start over, but you can check that out if you want to see earlier content
View all poems →Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.