Cold enough outside
to be the frozen part of Hell —
people forget that there’s a
frozen part full of Satan and
traitors, at least that’s what
Dante Aligheri said and he
is one poet who
actually seemed
to know things.

It’s cold enough outslde
that my anatomy isn’t buying it,
commenting through
the fingers and nose tip
that I ought to get inside
before one wince more
slices through.
In other words:

better to be inside, even if
I’ve nothing better to do than this,
even if that sounds like a betrayal
of the Work.

Though I can think of things
I could be doing that would hurt less
than this, I’ll do this
and stay warm,
braving Hell’s cold rage
for taking its name
in vain.