November's here…

COLD FRONT

There’s weather coming in;
Riding a wind
Out of the north
Its teeth
Sharpened on icebergs
It bit off the edge of the Arctic.

Shredded by the jet-stream
A tired cloud trails a thin rain
That dots the pavement
Freckles cars
Chills the air
Like crushed ice in a glass.

The heavy stuff
Is stacked behind
In a sickened sky
That brings a fevered flush
To house-bricks and staring windows,
Jaundices the page.

A day
To stay inside,
Leave the bike
Snug under cover
And wait
Till it’s all blown over.