Like a mermaid’s nipple denied
the sea’s lesser chill,
we harden.
We tighten up.
The fragile process of acknowledging
the wind
finds us once again
wishing for overcoats,
tired of fireside chats
and other historical broadcasts
but lacking the skills to build
a fire, lacking the wire
to mend a jaw.
All they seem to do is talk
in this new place,
their faces shut down
like highways where trucks
have overturned.
This is a shiver that burns,
a word that flickers,
a bare-chested lie
that goes unchallenged
for now.
