November


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1. November

November is a Thursday

A Groundhog Day of unwelcoming mornings.

A 30 day long traffic jam,

Queueing for the festivities of Friday.

No holiday in November,

A suffocating month.

Icicles blocking your airways,

Only to be melted by market-bought hot chocolate.

No more orange leaves in November,

The empty space between nightmares and Noel.

Silouhetted trees webbed in front of ignited gunpowder,

I hear echoes until December.

When the dull drapes of November are drawn,

The tinsel is draped over gloomy moods,

Brightening up the bleakest of mornings.

And Christmas-scented wreath is hung outside the front door.

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