An ode to February (otherwise known as ‘Why won’t January just end?)


As January drags its heels

my bank account turns red,

baked beans are now my staple meal

and all I want is bed.


Outside the frost and ice collect

their glitter hard and cold,

in wooly tights I must protect

my legs from sprouting mould.


At 5pm the darkness falls

a shroud that’s grim and bleak,

that forces me inside four walls

to pace like a caged freak.


With nine more days to battle through,

my patience has worn thin

as I stir watery bean stew

while downing warm sloe gin.


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