Blessed Warmth - Nov 22 2021

 

Blessed Warmth

Nov 22 2021

The door opens stiffly,

emitting a strangled squeak

as if to protest.

Visible breath

condenses on the windshield.

The vinyl seat

is hard as a board.

The engine starts grudgingly,

whining and sputtering

and catching reluctantly,

then shudders and grinds

as if starved for fuel.

The tank is full

but the flow miserly,

as if gas turns sluggish in cold.

The glass has iced over,

a solid sheet of white

after sitting overnight

while the mercury plunged.

So I also sit,

hunkering down

blowing on my hands,

sullenly impatient

for the car to heat up

the defroster defog.

But only cold air comes.

So I wait

in the limbo of winter,

my mouth grimly set

both shoulders tense

bum still numb,

the frozen vinyl

refusing to thaw.

The radio is on, undaunted by cold,

a heart-warming song

of hot toddies and blazing hearths.

Almost Christmas, and sentiment is rampant,

saccharine nostalgia

manufactured to sell.

But I'm in no mood for religion

  —   unless it's the inferno of hell.

Not here in limbo

where dead infants dwell.

Or would purgatory

be more appropriate,

a repentant sinner

waiting for heaven

to open its doors?

Except I'm still down here on earth,

where winter's eternal

and I'm chilled to the bone.

Imploring the devil

to deliver me from cold;

please, sir, some blessed warmth

and my impure soul

is yours evermore.