Winter enters through the air, biting where it touches skin.
A thousand nibbles give me the goose bumps.
Blood runs cold.
I blink and I sneeze and it's so cold I burn.
I'm one with my scooter as we speed on; home is just 5 minutes away.
Winter wind whistles past my frozen ears.
Fingers like claws on the handlebars.
I squeeze my eyes shut and watch my breath get stolen from me.
This green light is the last before I stop outside my front door.
Winter Christmas cards decorate my abrupt landing.
Flashing lights and whooping sirens do some last-minute caroling.
Blood runs red.
I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Listen to winter.
Please stop at red.
I wrote this poem because winter always reminds me of death. During the festive season so many people celebrate too much. One drink too many at one too many parties and you’re asking for trouble. Getting behind the wheel while drunk is a sure way to celebrate Christmas from the darkness of a coffin six feet under in frozen soil, or from the refrigerated stainless steel drawer in the local morgue, or from the organ donor section of the hospital you were taken to, or even from the ashy confines of an urn on the mantelpiece next to the empty stockings. The same stockings you were going to fill with candy and little gifts for your kids.
My hope is that this winter is different. Drink and let someone else drive. If you are the designated driver, don’t drink. Be happy this winter, but remember to also be safe. Your life is the best present you were ever given by your parents. Cherish it. Nurture it. Love it. Respect it and live long. Survive this winter and many more to come by being a little more careful when driving.