855 - It's a chill wind

Cold Arctic wind combined with clear blue sky
Diagonally crossed by vapour trail
Means rather than go out for a walk, I
Will stay at my desk this lunchtime. The pale
Sun oversees anaemically the tale
Of winter once again, cold spells that sting
The face and fingers, trying not to fail
Employers' expectations; I'm struggling
With aching gums and teeth, and following
Up things I've started, ambitions I try
To meet, lost in the cold atmosphere, stale
As working life reasserts its draining
Of energy and hope. Old people die
In unheated flats. The last coffin nail.
Tue 6 Jan 2009