the windows fog over
the rib bruises squeal
subfreezing air inspires
a frequent urge to kill

the fifth cup of coffee
and i'm still typing slow
the escape plan contains only
where i am and where i want to go

i start folding fingers
to count the people i love
and am warmed for the first time this morning
by the fact that one hand is enough

a little life behind me
a little life ahead
i'm going to stop my bitching now
and return their love instead