Going Hot And Cold (Poetry)

On this prickling-hot night
I lie sleepless and think of frost —
try hard to somehow conjure it —
feel the sudden sharp huff of its breath
those invisible wolf-teeth gnashing the air.
I concentrate — recreate sensation —
shiver in anticipation
imagine how it felt to freeze —
drift like an ice crystal
blown in from the North Pole ...

Conversely, by the time we’re plunged
into sub-zero temperatures —
hands blue, feet numb
and nose red as a reindeer’s
I can’t accurately recall
that awful clammy heat
of long-past summer.
Cold penetrates all thought
drives through however many layers
bites into the skin
while flesh denies it ever
met the sun.