Let’s rip the foil off this new year
like an unopened bottle of pills—
stumbling for the too small tab
along the sticky edges
until I just jam my fat thumb
through it in frustration.
Pluck the cotton— bright as the full moon
and throw it in the overflowing trash.
What use is cotton now that Christmas
has passed and Saturn is on the far side
of the sun? Dawn comes earlier every day
but the cold is getting settled in the earth.
I double-check the warning label—
alcohol is contraindicated for hope.
For this week’s Living Poetry Prompt.