Doughnuts -a poem by Abigail Mott

Friends,

Winter’s arrival has been conspicuously… wintery. Sudden snow accompanied by an unabashed blast of arctic air. A blatant change so shameless one could be forgiven for suspecting it a deliberate flaunt. The change of seasons kicks-in our door and calls us to attention howling “Denver, I’m hoooome!” We knew Wednesday’s wonderful weather was too good to last, still it was easy to distrust the foretold 40 degree drop. It was warm enough for a pleasant lunchtime stroll down 16^th street. Warm enough, for a turtleneck-clad lady with an ancient typewriter on a rickety tray table to sit outdoors selling bespoke poetry. Warm enough, it seemed like a good idea to blow my entire weekly donut allowance on one such a poem -a present for you. Not a dozen donuts but Abigail Mott’s poem about them. As you snuggle in your warm corner, sip on warm cocoa and gaze out your window at a landscape that’s beginning to look a lot like winter, enjoy these fanciful lines written on a whim at the request of a stranger.

Happy Friday and Merry Christmas!

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Friday Donuts

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