A Glacial Butt

A cigarette butt is on the concrete – spent;

People step upon the filter, without relent.

The chill of winter is in the October draft,

Howling in the hollow sound reception devices.

Pedestrians are bundled up, against the bitter cold;

Every New Yorker is attempting and fighting, to prevent

Their skin from, becoming akin to the wind – Ariel sent.

The old cigarette is exposed and pregnable -

Like each passing figures`, un-covered, countenance;  

But, despite being trodden, it is stoic in the frigid ambiance.

Two eyes stare at the butt, wonder what is meant

By this vision… Perhaps some abstruse ken is lent?

Observations, into verse, are prepared to graft;

Verbal harmony, which is played, will be inaudible.

Each tercet is slowly drawn together – each splices;

Creating a, rather unexpected, sense of consonance.

In the algid atmosphere – a response, as the poem begins to mold;

The reaction raising, redoubling, the lyrical lines rhythmic resonance.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker