My poem, Winter 2045, is up at the New Verse News. Here is the poem:

Winter 2045

We bought the corner place
on Burroughs Street—
I’m sure you know it—
a stately two story
built when the neighborhood
was only good for grazing cows.

It took two years of construction
now that the summer restrictions
are in force. We replaced the windows,
added insulation and central air—
two bathrooms and a kitchen.

Only this week, we found our way
to the attic. It’s a wonderland.
Skis and snow shovels
and sleds for children and adults.
And in two huge chests
clothing for a winter fashion show
on an air-conditioned stage.

It was cold here once—
although the children refuse
to believe it.
It was cold here once—
although I hardly remember.
Ice hung from the trees—
the snow so high
we could barely open our back doors.

My parents would go
south for the winter—
to Florida or coastal Carolina.
To places first scorched then drowned—
to places now as bare
as the surface of the Moon.