beggar;

Today it was fourteen degrees
even though it felt like three,
and the wind was heavy enough
to blow me off of my candlestick
legs.

I was smashed under the snow
and like a grain of wheat I
crumbled after the free-fall,
choking on the fifteenth of
February and an 11:30 curfew.

I was an elastic band, snapping
over the edges and stinking of
burning rubber and suicidal
ricochet.

You are all I have, please do not
leave me.