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Metaphor poem
March 2, 2016
The chill hitting you,
like a truck.
Makes your hair stand up.
You walk,
on the gravel.
So cold it feels,
like little sharp stones,
hitting your feet.
The car is a sitting ice brick,
metal colder than snow.
The door handle,
stuck to the car
like gum to a seat.
Barely opens.
You get in the car,
the cool breeze hits you.
You’re so cold,
just sitting there.
You start the car,
the cold is easing off.
Your so cold then….
you turn the heat.
© Tim K., La Crosse, WI
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