Poetry: Fog

On the morn of wispy fog I stood in the chill dawn

I watched it feather it's way up the sign posts

Curling like bony fingers around trees and busses and traffic lights

I watched it pouring over the foothills like dry ice pours from a beaker in science lab

I shiver in the coolness wondering why I didn't wear a sweater

I watch the first floor of my school building disappear in the encroaching fog

I would be late again

I wasn't meant to be locked in a room all day even if it was in the name of education

I was meant to feel the fog wrapping around my ankles

I watched it obliterate all the details around me

I basked in the surrealistic glow

I heard the relentless bell ringing in the distance

I walked with lead feet in that direction