Sombernay Grey
By: Mark Melanson

Concrete clouds

weigh heavy

upon the sky

pressing everything

into drizzling melancholy

wine

I sip its sorry vintage

never a good year

salty and chilled

drenching my heart in

dourness

Funny how it works

this tragic magic

eclipsing all hope

of bright summer days

Catapulting me

upended

into heaving waves of

sorrow

allowing me neither

to swim nor drown

So, here I mope

at my streaked pane

manning a poet’s post

with glum quill in hand

savoring my sombernay grey