The weather station told me
to worry about
the flat roof caving in
and so I am.
The second blizzard
is now intensifying
and I lie in bed,
stony and quiet,
frightened of the wind noises,
balling up the cotton sheets
in my sweaty, panicked fist-balls,
scrutinizing each crack
as to
length, width, depth, position, proximity, pattern.
And was it always there?
Has it gotten worse?
Does it look
A stirring beside me
jars me out of
my fixation
and I think,
Sex just doesn’t even occur to me anymore.