Snowman and Carrots

Long johns, Levis, itchy but warm wool socks,
Musty gloves, boots with shoestrings longer than an extension cord
And more eyes than a fly join
An almost thrown away “who’s gonna use it” hat
To shuffle me
hesitantly to the ice cold porch.

‘Build it’ is the only part of that crazy baseball
Movie I remember as I stand frozen
on the steps in front of old man winter.
He and Mother Nature
Must be having an argument.

Pure, pristine and powerful, the still air needles
Its way through any thin kink
In my winter’s armor. I’m doing this because?
Little doubt that huge doubt tells me
Sensible grown-ups
Don’t do this anymore.

Still, I stubbornly succumb
To being the little boy – again – who loves
Breathing in frosty mornings
While awkwardly building a snowman.

Ice on ice. Carrots and sticks. False teeth that
Laugh at the wickedness of the cold.
Oh
What fun it is to slide in
that great old-fashioned way.