January 3:
cold feet.
A year ahead,
and it starts like this?
Whose idea was it
to start the year
before the first green shows
through the snow?
I’m going to find that man
and make him stand
barefoot, outside, on ice.
If we’ve gotta put up with this,
he should have to as well.
I don’t care how dead he is:
there must be things he never got around
to doing, and he ought to know
how much hesitation hurts
when you know
you should be up and at it.