Ungodly Hour
Feb 3 2022
Still dark
and the seat is stiff with cold.
My warm wet breath
freezes to the glass,
condensing the world
to this small enclosed space.
A mittened hand
fumbles with the key.
It turns stiffly,
the dome light dimming
as the starter squeals, shudders, grinds.
And grudgingly ignites.
But the engine is a block of ice
and runs rough and loud,
as if protesting
such a rude awakening
at this ungodly hour.
Thick exhaust
pulses from the tailpipe,
the fuel mix
too rich to fully combust.
A dense blue cloud
that keeps getting bigger
and stinks of unburned gas,
suspended in air
as if frozen in place.
An extreme cold warning
on a winter morning
when the car was left unplugged.
But adversity toughens us
forms character,
and why we northerners
get to feel smug about ourselves.
Weather snobs
who brag about how cold.
Who look serious
when we tell tales of frozen corpses
sitting in the driver's seat
that weren't found until spring.
Who sneak off
for a package deal
in some pastel pink motel
further from the beach than they promised,
then complain about the heat.
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