It’s not cold inside

It’s not cold

Inside, I say

And laugh

And lead the way

Up the snowy steps

Over the rough wood porch

Banisters covered

In inch thick white

While the porch roof

Drips clear daggers.

We stamp our feet

To the blink of

The Xmas lights

That look like

Colored insects

It’s not cold

Inside, I say

As I clap my gloves

The vestibule

Filled with cloth coats

Of practical men

Who have preceded us

It’s not cold

Inside, I say,

Though I sometimes

Know it is,

Stomping my feet

To rid the of snow

I know won’t come

Off inside of me,

The daggers of ice

Poking me

From inside out

It’s not cold

Inside, I say

And hang my coat

And pray this time

It’s true.