There’s an old red bicycle
frozen in the snow
in front of a little clapboard bungalow
at the far end of my street.
There’s a thick wool cap
on this silly ass head,
thermal socks, and heavy boots
on these crunching feet.
Why, oh why in hell, I ask,
did I venture out here on a morning
when I could’ve just stayed asleep?
Haunted Avenues 