Arctic Wisdom

"There's three kinds of cold",
my guide opined, "but only two
you have to worry about."

on the edge of arctic,
the rim of night's freeze nipping
at our lives

we stood beside the icy
idling tractor relieving our bladders
after hours of travel

"one is when it hits the ground
and freezes:
that's called cold"

I looked down at my puddle
"so its cold."
he nodded.

"two is when it freezes
on the way down
that's called colder."

"what about the third" I asked
as we climbed back inside
the tractor's fragile warmth

He threw it into gear: we lurched away.
"three is when it freezes
as its coming out."

"and what's that third one called?"
he shrugged and lit a cigarette
"we call that dead."