The snow is not the only source of cold this morning.

I stood at my window this morning and watched

As a man stood, silent, smoking amidst the snow

With a bag of collected bottles and cans at this feet.

And I cursed the interlocking systems of oppression

That kept me from inviting him in from the cold

That kept him in a position most likely not of his choosing

That kept us as strangers for this moment

And perhaps for a thousand moments to come.

The snow is not the only source of cold this morning.