It is 22 degrees this morning, so I politely decline my usual morning walk. I am reminded of a poem I wrote in February or March of 2018:
To a Contact Lens, Lost on Argyle Circle
Frigid fingers finding in the lid…nothing.
Accidentally wiped from the eye
to the thankless sidewalk below.
I stumble on for another mile and a half,
and wave politely at empty cars.
