This isn't just a love poem.

This isn't just a sonnet

written in a classic

Shakespeare style

or Keats's

‘Shall I compare you

to a summer’s day’

This is penned

on a cold, windy day

waiting for an interview

I had arrived

early, but as soon

as I left

the station,

it started snowing,

and god, did it snow.

God, did it snow.

It wasn’t like

it came down

in a few little drips

it was almost

like somebody

had decided

to throw bullets,

leaving me wishing

I had stayed in bed

and not tried

to be fancy with my poems.