11/04

November Fourth

My freshman year I tumbled out of bed,
slipping on the rungs and landing hard,
waking up my roommate as I scrambled to
the window, falling over chairs and clothes,
because I never cleaned my room, barking
my shins against an open drawer, but it
was worth the pain to see the snow.

Four years later I open one eye and groan;
nine am and the snow just starting, and
that means it's cold outside, and wet.
My roommate's gone already and the sun
is behind the clouds, and snow is only
really pretty when it's sticking, and this
isn't. I get up, but with intense regret,
and slowly. And my room is far too clean.