Blustery 25-below, O Walt, I wouldn't go And live with animals tonight— Or anytime soon. How do They survive in their snowy lairs? How could I, for that matter, who Haven't taken the wild Swedish plunge Every chilly night to thicken my fur layer By layer, I who doze by the fire With the phone to my ear, Doze the whole new year Listening to my wife in such weird Zone-warping tropical heat, naked, Whispering her desire for 50-below, If it brings her home. That's fur Of a different nature, Walt, layer Upon layer of love that glows, grows Over us like a sun-lit coat. O we are hothouse flowers, Walt, Naked and limply alive in a narrow Equatorial band. Otherwise, we die. Walt, we must make do With our lovely human hair.
Copyright © 2011 by Neil Shepard. Used with permission of the author.