Cold Enough

Huddled under cardboard,

Old Annie shivers.

Surrounded by layers of rags and bags,

Scavenged bits hoarded against the cold,

Shoved into cracks, or

Worn as a layered mantle

No room open for her tonight

No place to warm her tired bones

They say it’s not cold enough.

Twelve degrees.

The winds howl,

Sweeping down these city streets

Stirring up ghosts of every December

Those souls who couldn’t be saved

No place to warm their bones

No room opened for them

Someone said it’s not cold enough.