Sitting in the bar window, the sunlight
refracts through my pitcher of Switchback
shooting slivers of rainbows onto
the pages of my book.
The sunlight is so clear and warm,
it almost fools you into thinking
it’s a nice day outside.
My friend Mikey says that
windows in the wintertime
are not windows,
just projections of nice days.
I remember Februarys in Georgia:
difficult and cold,
frustrated by the deception of sunshine.
If I had only known that was just
the surface--
a veneer of winter
over a temperate climate.
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