My celebration 

may end in a hospital 

(I'd prefer a bar)

 A dull light like

weak tea seeps in and teases

on this dreary day

Count down the hours

or count your blessings but not 

your unhatched chickens 

The window was both

refuge and adversary, 

betwixt birth and end

Crush your crutches and 

smash those idols so you can

finally be free 

The fog rolls in like

rushing sea waves dusting all

in dewy grayness 

Paper littering 

the floor and Christmas lights on

the blink means it's done