my tattered bathrobe

it's a burst

of subdued anger,

a grumbling

of sorts

whispered under my

breath

as i hang

up the phone.

an internal protest.

maybe it's the snow

outside,

the slush

and frozen roads,

the wind chill

factor. or

maybe it's old age creeping

in as i

prowl the rooms

in my tattered

bathrobe.