I have a cold

The autumn is back
An endless wind chill
Of nevergreen hedges
And lawn-rotting leaves
Well-bloated spiders
Crystallised ice legs
Spindle radially
Over the windscreen
Festive olde ale
In a country pub
Near a rural town
Devoid of sights, sounds,
All that builds a mind
That a festive drink
Could disarm and take
The need to think from
Smiles and laughter grace
The punters in the bar
A head above water
For one evening only
Crystallised ice legs
Again and the heat
Switched on and blowing
Round dark narrow lanes
Without real signposts
Home to the corpse that's
Still in my attic
In an ill-lit house
Not warmed by the fire
Glassy drunk I walked
To a general store
Where I forgot what
I had come in for
On a headcold day
When every step is
A trudge through treacle