Weather Report from Suicide Lake

Emerge
from a stuffy house
into the broken, gray clouded
hard brittle ice.
Cross the woods
leaf carpet & step
onto the lake.
December has settled
into the trees
like fluffed-up crows.
There is just enough
snow on the ice to
pull a blanket over its face.
Roiling dirty booted
clouds are marching past
& bring nothing,
not rain, not snow, not
Christmas gifts. Nothing
for the children, the dogs,
or lonely bachelors nursing
the last half inch of brandy.
Nothing for me.
I’d prefer a baked potato
warm in my pocket or your hand
or a fistful of filthy dollars.
Anything to replace the
disdainful click of clocks,
these thin boots & traffic
mumbling in the distance
about someplace to go.

Travis Stephens is a tugboat captain who lives with his family in California. His book of poetry, “skeeter bit & still drunk” was published by Finishing Line Press.