A frosty needle works through
hot blankets, even here
near Mexico. Chicago wants
to scratch my back
with icy nails and frosty fur.

I came to hang my skin
in the sun, a tanning
caramel; a chamois flag
to fan or lie,
a bleached weed, by ocean.

But I stay in shade,
watch the night sky
for wintry pink. Dozers
push west to give me a hitch.
My skin's been packed for days.