Whirlwind Romance

Ten degrees below and the north wind squats low
in the swirling maze trying to make my feet like snow.
At minus five below the wind tugs at my toque
trying to tickle my ears with icy fingers.
At zero degrees the wind tumbles through my hair
and is another hand over the grocery bag.
At five above it slides into my coat that is undone.
After a while, walking I zipper it up, stymieing fun.
At plus ten degrees the wind is pleased to share
the nicotine and tar air, inhaled in turn.
At fifteen degrees above the wind had found new loves
with bare legs and chests that he can caress
And we each move indifferent to each other.

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