POEM - AGAIN THIS IS MY HOME

the cold
it bites at you like a pack
of hungry wolves
but hell
you get used to that
just like you get used to anything
waking up in the morning
feeling like a turd
that’s been trampled
and smeared
all the way down the sidewalk
around the corner.
or you get used to being so alone
you can’t even think original thoughts
only sit in front of the television
watch other people
live their made up lives
say their made up lines
think their made up thoughts
out in Vegas
I wore long johns
four shirts and a jacket
when it dipped down
to fifty degrees outside
now, a few weeks in New Hampshire
I wear three shirts and no long johns
when it creeps up to twenty – five
and every time I come back here
I wonder why the hell I did
the snow storms
icy roads
falling on the sidewalks
running from bar to bar
but then I realize there’s some truth to it here
nature revealing her mean side
people just doing what they can to survive
on a daily basis
when you’re sitting on a park bench
in the warm sun you think,
“well, this is nice, but what next?”
it’s too easy
where’s the challenge?
but when you haven’t seen the sun
in five months
and your skin is white and dry as paper
you have that constant thought,
“if I can handle this, I can handle anything.”
and that thought
it bites back at the cold
at that pack of mangy wolves
you become tougher and stronger
next thing you know
you’re out in some blizzard shouting,
“hell, this is all ya got? This is it?
this ain’t even half bad!”