Stoop

if it is really cold wind hints
rain   smells of coffee blow in
from a factory the next town over

wind whips skirts up
bottoms freeze either place
steps or landing      grow 

numb the longer we sit
cotton underthings don't keep
cold from cutting flesh until

bones become part stone
even when we aren't locked 
out we sit on cold 

slabs   going in is giving in   giving in 
to other things
            I prefer cold

(from the chapbook double exposure, Plan B Press)