Sweaty Night
The whirring of the plastic blades
Bring such a small relief
The prospect of a restless night
Cements the firm belief
I wasn't made for tropic climes
Though beautiful to see.
Yes, I was made for cold, sublime!
It's where I'm 'sposed to be.
A cup of coffee in my hand
To quell the morning chill
An extra blanket on the bed,
Completes the morning thrill
Of living where the air is cool,
A place we do not sweat.
But swel'tring temps weigh down on me
And leave me dripping wet.
The night is long, I toss and turn
When will the morning come?
The roasting cycle starts anew;
It's ushered by the sun
by David C. Rogers
9/2018, From Haiti
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upnorthdavid
David grew up in Mexico. He brings a unique perspective to life in rural Michigan. Most of his poems are written spontaneously, as things catch his attention or humor him. Some of his pieces are lighthearted while others broach deeper subjects. Coffee, DIY projects, and writing are his passion. Most his poems are structured, but he does enjoy writing free verse writing from time to time.
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