the room that disappeared
by JB Mulligan


Mid-April snow squall,
the wind cuts on the bias,
walkers lean into it
like forcing open a door
to the room where spring was
yesterday.
Cars rush by, going
to places where the snow is not,
their frantic antennae
of windshield wipers
like the hands of clocks
stuck repeating the hours
at the end of the
last day of winter.






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