November Inflation
Terry Trowbridge
My fingers marble with reds and wrinkles
in the cold shadow of a suppressed thermostat.
The window of my room is drafty.
The sunlight today is as cold as the noon moon.
My knuckles, slow to curl while I type 60 words per minute,
leave cold spots on my face 16 times per hour (says Google).
Heating oil inflates; capillaries deflate,
and error-prone fingers wilt like senescent celery.
