Hank Williams he was not
singing about a cold, cold, heart.
Chilled to the bone by her winter kiss
frozen stiff, quietly restraining his barren soul
to wastelands of regret.

She played him like a piano
cooing in her best Patti Page impression.
An Alaskan polar bear composed
two parts desire, one part icicle
jarring his fibers to an erect position.

So he stands now, an ice monument
catatonic, listening to loons
skating on ponds of isolation
while yellow pines sway and crackle.
The sound's so winsome one could cry.

Joel L. Young . 2004