Edgar's picture

by Baxter Black

March came in like a lion and left the door open

It’s blowed like a banshee for weeks

I saddle and ride like some kind of robot

She builds up a temper and shrieks

The constant thrumming that grates on my skin

And pulls on my collar and coat

Like an EPA leech that’s hooked to my lungs

And blowin’ its breath down my throat

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