THE TEMPERATURE HOVERS AT FREEZING
This evening we obey all traffic laws.
The wind pushes the bare branches up and down.
We walk like ungainly penguins, tilt left
to right as we step careful of the treacherous ice.
We cross the street at the best lit corners.
Pray to maintain our earned evolutionary
uprightness, wary of even the slowest cars.
I've lost my ear warmer, but say nothing.
The bar is almost empty, we eat a late dinner.
You've brought Catullus. The big televisions
flick boxing at us. I look up from Beowulf,
the guy in the blue trunks is the smart one
but no matter, three rounds, he loses the bout.
¤ ¤ ¤
FREYA
She belongs to the children who dream
of her before they are old enough to understand.
Her sled is pulled through the snow by muscular
white cats. We have left milk in glazed bowls
out in the fields, bargaining for a fertile spring.
When they come on paws the size of saucers,
owls go hungry, the night is full of stars.
