They blow like ghosts
silent
across the floor,
singularly focused upon
the wind’s bitterness.
The cold is no longer
merely a meteorological phenomenon
but the devil himself,
a million needle sharp teeth
tearing through exposed flesh.
Betrayed by Southern accents,
I think to myself,
“these men would find 40 degrees unpleasant”
This must be hell frozen over.
Jason Kanz 