Some nights, when the temperature drops,
the house clenches its shoulders,
gives a shudder, nails trying to make
a break for Florida, and the whole shebang goes…
well, BANG. If you’re asleep, It can sound
like someone’s breaking through the door.
For a second, your heart bangs, too,
racing in a potent flight-or-fight mix
of adrenalin with sleep’s melatonin.
Then you realize you’re not flying
anywhere with the covers wrapped around
your ankles, entrapping your knocking knees.
And fighting? You’ll never stop any
2×8 interlopers with your usual weapon
of glib insincerity. And why oh why
did you leave your chain saw beneath
the kiddie pool in the garage?
Your only defense is to assume
nocturnal marsupial mode, rolling over,
assuming make-believe moribund possum
pose with a shrug of armadillo blanket
wrapping and allowing the furnace’s fresh
hot breath to sniff you and sedate
the house until the 6:30 alarm trumps
any more temperature-touchy timbers.