Climate Control (a poem for the PCT)

It’s ridiculous, you know.

This sitting on the couch

and watching Stargate SG-1 

and sipping tea 

and eating toast.

It’s ridiculous, you know:

This air-conditioned

snug and windowed

house with neat green shutters.

The running water,

hot for showers;

tables, chairs and dinner plates;

homemade bread with softened butter,

clothing choices, scrambled eggs.

Five months. No beds.

Open sky.

Polyester clothing.

Raw-faced wind and blistered feet

and walking, always walking—

It’s ridiculous, you know.

~~~