a fiftieth new poem... 'contending for a living'

It’s about the traps,

The bears,

Bear traps,

The taps turning on

In the morning

Running with water

Cold in the night,

When ice covers

Wind blasted walls,
Snow falls on

Grey streets
And the paving stones

Hard underneath

Club feet,

And your beard

Frozen to your

Cheek, numb

Touch black fingers

Nails bitten such

Down to the bone -

There’s no place

Like life, about

Face. Home.