Wind-chill

I’m not ready for the cold,

But, then again, nobody asked me.

I’m never consulted about those kinds of things.

Atmospheric happenings go on without

Without consideration of me or my motorcycle,

Let alone considering the effects

Of wind-chill on my face

Or the combination of past infusion

Of cigarettes, cold, and my fingers

Wrapped around the throttle

In the teeth of the wind

Or my childhood trauma

Of waiting for the school bus,

On winter mornings,

Afraid my cheeks will fall off.