The Gremlin
The sunlight cravedin winter gray
arrived with reinforcements -
a humid, sticky coup -
and now a sweaty gremlin
brews its mischief.
Hair once straight
now loops and frizzes,
armpits a damp disaster
of widening rings,
the shame;
but what to do?
Window shades
slammed shut,
the drab of winter light
now seems a paradise.
In darkness sit,
three fans on high…
be still,
hold your breath…
the gremlin
might not get you.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 6 times
Written on 2026-05-18 at 15:37
|
melanie sue |
