The ghosts of men in wild skins clap
skunk hide gloves against a north wind.
My wide-brim, high crown hat is blizzard-blown.
One neighbor used telephone books
for insulation when he built a new house.
He curses the hunger of nimble wall-mice.
Nostalgia is the warmest place in the county,
outlaw coffins, bleating drunks at Lee & Rosie's
long incapable of pleasing moon-drunk girls.
Then there was the icy night
a semi hauling 50,000 pounds of mayo
slammed into a rig carrying frozen peas,
Tonight, with the kids faking sleep,
I'm hooked on Kate's narrowed blue eyes,
singing on the fringe of joy.