A Winter Poem

Last year my friend Alison in Palm Beach found this poem. Her trees were dying from the cold.

” WINTER ” by Abigail Elizabeth McIntyre

Shit It’s Cold

The End

That was one of coldest weeks in American weather history.

Even Florida had snow.

Winters weren’t always that way and maybe next year will be normal, but in April 1971 I escaped the cold in Boston by driving to Florida with Mark, John, and Tommy. It was spring break. We had rented a house in Fort Lauderdale across from the infamous Elbow Room.

The Sunshine State’s drinking age was 18.

The four of us were legal.

We crossed the state line around 9pm. WBZ was on the radio. The Boston station was broadcasting the NHL play-offs. Bruins-Canadians. We were leading ‘les Habitants’ by 2 goals in the 3rd period. The station’s 50,000 kilowatt signal gave out at the ‘free OJ’ welcome stand. We reached Fort Lauderdale at dawn. We went to swim at sunrise. I read the morning newspaper on the beach. The Bruins has lost 7-5. None of my friends cared about the loss.

We were on a beach with girls in bikinis.

There was no more winter.

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