The rough air does not threaten
Its vow remains unbroken
Clinging to the ashen jaw
That clenches against this bitter cold.
Spiteful, pinching almost gleefully wiping the tears from the mourners' cheeks.
It does not have to wait to catch its breath.
The naked, adolescent trees shiver together
Branches bumping off each other
Like awkward first time lovers-
A wooden tinkling like a school bell.
The heavy winter coats seem as thin as human skin
With heavy breath, the burly men try to shrug off their regrets
Their loss.

Even in this sorrowful state
It whistles on to its next endeavour
Eagre to dance between the goosey thighs
Of the latest weeping widow.
Tongue out to whip the last enjoyable eddy,
Right up to the centre of things.
Hands dug deep in empty, unused pockets,
The head disembodied and overworked
Allows blind connections to swim in and out of the well-groomed vessel.
In between the hollow words of the familiar stranger
I uncross my legs, welcoming the breeze
And oddly allow abandoned humour to take me from this unwelcome stage.
A clumsy smile tumbles off my lips 
As I catch a glimpse of tragic irony:
The argument with my mother on what's appropriate to wear.
The unreasonable need for make-up
Which will just be washed away.
The grim shopping trip to look good for the dead.
I'm dressing up for a man that does not care to look
With no will to breathe 
And certainly no need.