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Cold as a Pickeled Scrotum

After opening the storm door with a turn of my wrist,
my face was punched by a frozen fist.
Leaving my home to  meet Decem-burr's air.
God would be cold, if a god were really there.
But I continue along my icy path,
determined to travel in spite of winters wrath.
I see an old friend, but I am too cold to say hi.
The wind hits my face and tears form in my eye.
Brandon sees me and smiles, and I don't know how,
and pulls his hat away from his brow.
I laugh at his folly, but he keeps at it,
He takes off his trousers like a bad habit,
His balls are dangling there in the sub-zero,
But whether the weather, this boy is my hero.

A contest entry

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Comments


  • Jai Guru Deva
    January 26
    Edit | Reply
    I liked this a lot. Good job and good luck.

  • poet2angels silver member
    December 9, 2007
    Edit | Reply
    Very clever...
    The end was adorable...
    Imagery is awesome..
    TY for entering

    Lynda