My January

My January creaks with age,
its joints aching from cold
as it begins another rotation around the sun,
saying, "Here we go again."
My January rises too early in the morning
and trudges off to work,
carrying its best intentions
in a pocket full of holes.
My January persists
and carries on and forward
like a ship tossed on the frigid sea,
with nowhere to stop until it reaches
that distant shore.