Baby, It's Cold Outside

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes
as I hurtle down the early morning freeway,

a single icicle hangs
from an overpass
like the last
cold, wet, slippery,
handhold
of civilization.

and the sun will soon rise
on another day,
give rise,
rise up,
give rise,
to another day,
sunrise
on the last
cold, wet, slippery
handhold
of civilization

2.

everytime I step from my truck
the cold surrounds me
weaves its way through my clothes
and wraps around my skin
like a warm blanket

"the cold will make you tough,"
I've heard it said.
"the cold will make you tough."