Cold Feet

I’ve never met such cold feet!

How do you do? 

I know you don’t have ears. 

Is that why you never cloak yourself

Despite the repeated cries of 

The Mother? 

When you transition from tiles to hearth

From velveteen carpet to scratchy rug

Do you not cry out 

For comfort?

I must say I admire your hardiness.

The bicycle has hard unforgiving pedals 

Yet you soldier on

In summer evenings and dry weekends.

You acquire scrapes and scratches

With oozing and plasticky

Hastily applied bandages

And stickers.

It must be a relief when you take yourselves

Into the enveloping softness of the duvet 

For at least a few hours of warmth, 

cradling stillness.

But it’s never for long!

How are you then so restless

Propelling yourselves from this idyll 

To Out There again?

For more contrast and pain

Unrelenting shouting and 

Yet more exposure

Such cold feet.