Because yup—your neighborhood
and beyond
this morning
are nothing—but disinclined
row
after frostbitten
row
of chilly brick
glum and tightwindowed
faces—each
dimlit
in the stoic mid-
November air
by circumspect sun-
light
already receding—but by
god-
damn—lookit: you're still
holding
tight to your little
shy ton
of indisposed—stuff to do.
