The bone chill factor     5 below on the chatter scale

cornered in a concrete garage     checking carefully

for two coins tucked inside     his only unholy pocket

an uncertain safe defending     “a nickel’s worth of nickels”

far too broke to finish the line     “and a dime’s worth of dimes”

that cold chorus for an old man     too long on the road

wet winters and iced rain     too much for those old bones

hope a vicious swearword     winter a face-off against death

hunger a daily growl in his guts     brittle leaves rattle worn shoes

the north wind punches and jabs     winter wins the fight this time

spring will come soon     to thaw his clattering frame

but until then, a buck here     a buck there gathered

at his street corner outpost     will soon buy a warming beer.