The gift (ver 2)

The moon has a bright halo
And the air is hard with cold.

My nose runs.
I pull the blanket up over my head.

My breath quickly heats up the little pocket under the blanket.
I poke my head out.

I exhale and see 
White-grey steam. 

The cold is felt on my face and again duck under the blanket.
I duck under again.

The back seat of the car is too small
I cannot stretch out and have to fold my legs to fit. 
My neck is crammed onto the arm rest of the door,
made less uncomfortable by the pillow. 

The car’s heater under protest
quickly makes the air sleepy with warmth.

Merry Christmas.

Copyright January 27, 2008.