“I hate you, winter.” A poem by Michael Dahl

I hate winter.  Outside hurts.  And as someone who suffers from Seasonal Affective Disorder in addition to chronic (treated) Depression, I detest November through February.

The words to the poem below came to me as I was driving Rebecca to work and a jerk was tailgating us on a slippery road.  It was late January 2014 — the year of the Arctic Blast. Our car had not yet warmed up, so my shoulders were scrunched up trying to cover my neck.  The sky was gray.  I was in pure misery.

I submitted this poem to Minnesota Public Radio for a conversation on Minnesotans and their feelings about winter.  They read it, so I was plenty prideful that day.

“I hate you, winter”

I hate you, winter.
Your fresh-fallen snow is eye candy
with a flavor that quickly grows stale.

I hate you, winter.
Your cold forces scrunched shoulders,
bad postures, sore necks, and a 6-month long backache.

I hate you, winter.
Your icy roadways turn tailgaters
into selfish killing machines.

I hate you, winter.

I simply hate you.