As we sit cold and dark
The thermostat becomes an argument
That winning means freezing and losing means paying
What we might have spent on a new chair or a bag of weed
For a few BTU  

We watch the old and rich quietly disappear
Following the vee of geese
To another round of golf
Another glass of Montrachet
Behind the gate that keeps us out  

And smile
Thankful for these months with no mosquitos
Or din of lawnmowers,
The buzz of flies or evil heat
That makes our faces red with misery

Nothing like children’s cheeks
at the bottom of a snow covered hill
Red with joy
As the snowball misses Mom