Old Dogs


I look outside

the sun
shines brightly
in a beautifully
clear blue sky

but the glowing orb
doesn't fool me
for it's a smiling face
with gun in hand

the weapon
in this case
high on the arctic circle
is thirty degrees below zero
ready to kill any clown
attempting to frolic
out in the frigid
light of this
winter day

all of this
is quite in contrast
to the sweltering heat
of eight plus degrees
in my sealed room

a slow
depressing death
of a different kind
a spiritual demise
as I sweat
and wonder
why the technology
that brought me here
can't keep
the heated air
in a more moderate
and reasonable

I touch
my finger
to the room-side surface
of the double-paned window
knowing the temperature difference
across that half
inch of glass
and trapped air
is much in excess
of a hundred degrees

a large gap
in disparity
in levels of heat
which only serves
to greatly narrow
the gap between
my melting mind
and the insanity
that awaits