It was 11:44 and I

It was 11:44 and I,
having wasted so much of God's good day,
decided to leave;
walking down
the old boat trail,
hard packed snow
where the dogs go
under brambled bush
by rusted pump.
Between the river Red
and iron beds,
of Riverview,
there 'twas I
and did espy
a quinzee
perhaps abandoned by
some crazy man,
but I
entered, crawling
polar child
earthly wild,
wrapped in warm sheets
of snow
I died.