The "Belows"

School-cancelings
     loom
over our weekend
like candy-canes
over your weakened
Christmas tree.

You check the local news
     on the tens
instead of piecing
that jigsaw puzzle
your mom gave us--

                          gave you
                              really;
                          but
                              you didn't want me
                              left out after the awkward
                              family, new years dinner.

The Monday morning peace
you hope for puzzles me
until the Packers lose

and I'm picking up the pieces.

Fuck the belows

     you say during healing session two
     after the television screaming
     before the head scratches.

           Did you say bellows?

No, the "belows":
ten below
fifteen below
twenty below.

You read the midwest numbers
on channel 4's high-def map
like a morse code junkie from Michigan
arcing through Arkansas
                                       to Montana
minimizing the Packer bellowing.

Unsatisfied, you propose:

We must beat the belows;
unlike the jones you can't
out buy them
unlike the smiths you can't
out wesson them...

                             --head scratch pause--

so I suggest
we beat the belows:

          make snow pirates
          on our walk

          to the German bar
          for mulled cider.