November

A Poem

Strolling down Old Main

A chill breeze rolls through,

Winter’s first cavalry

Announcing its impending

Siege on the town.

Leaves rustle and whirl

As the sun slides

Below the horizon,

Eager to escape Winter’s grasp.

I enter an old, familiar place.

Desolate.

I order hot tea

And my palms hug it on arrival.

Spiced chai warmth rejuvenates

Me while I sit

Waiting.

Waiting for food.

Waiting for winter’s cruel descent.