by Kirsty Logan
we all want to go down
because nothing north can be good.
up here we're always wet
and cold, and bare branches give no fruit.
we don't look good in puddles
and no-one likes to fuck in drizzle.
going down means warmth. it means
sun turning our eyelashes gold. breakfasts
of fruit and the glint of coins. it means blue and white
and never grey, never shivers, never sighs, never too tired or old or bored or sad.
you'll never have to drink tea again
and you'll always be in the mood.
what's north of here anyway?
icebergs and drafty huts, moose and geese and secret isolated labs.
no half-price mojitos consumed while costumed in hammocks
no girls going wild or boys with shiny chests.
nothing north can be good.
I like the sun.
I like to come.
But I prefer the way her cheeks go pink in the snow.
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NaPoWriMo, Day 14.