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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1248231-Cold
by IdaLin
Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1248231
Sitting at my desk, I realize I'm cold.
I'm cold.
I sit at my desk and think I'm cold.
Do I get a sweater?
No.
I'd hate to rearrange and lose my place on the page.
Do I turn up the heat?
No.
(I can't, the new kitchen has no baseboard heaters.)
Do I leave my desk and move to a warmer spot?
No. Heavens, no.
Can't write there.
The rain beats against the window air conditioner with pattering droplets.
It's been languishing there all winter.
It's early spring, now.
I sigh.
The night-cold air comes through and makes me shiver.
Do I care?
No.
But I'm still cold.
© Copyright 2007 IdaLin (conniefs at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1248231-Cold