Working In Winter

The cold hits stiff.

I see my breath.

I walk carefully-

treading asphalt,

treading ice-

Towards my car.

Towards good intentions.

Things I don't want to do

I tell myself I need to do

Just go. Just go

Snow and rain will come.

The phones will ring.

You'll see me driving away slow.

Better things must wait

outside the front door-

obligation,

a new face

to paint on

to hide my disdain

for cold rooms and red lights

and stranger's friend's laughter

and cleaning spilt coffee

and steeping self pity

along with the tea.