Shall we take our socks off or leave them on?
Often the warmth is ripped from icy feet
and thrown away from the
square of fake lawn
near the table that holds a can of deet
a pair of small
gloves and a jar of heat
A night bird sings outside the wire mesh box
The decision is made not to repeat
I sit on
ice wearing my brown
knee socks
my shoulders covered by long lovely locks
You rip the top off a package of
joy
I look around hoping nobody knocks
You steal
sweets as I pretend to be
coy
My head hits the bottom green
window pane
We both confess we are quite
insane