"Brittle Air "
Greg Budig 2021
All around town
morning engines
are groaning.
Trying to turn over,
frozen in place.
Explosions of gas
inside each ice
gripped piston.
The horizon is set in
sharp distinct colors.
The atmosphere brittle
as thin panes of glass.
A line of orange red sits
on top of the snow drifts.
The sun rise appears above
the wind driven fields.
It gets hard to
breathe in the
sharp, brittle air.
Lungs become
fragile as the cold
breath invades.
I begin to soon wonder,
"Why am I here?"
The End
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