a place to go

your hands are cold
your feet too.
as is your nose,
the extremities
of you are icy, and
red as we stand
and wait for the
express bus down
town. we shuffle
in place to gain
heat. the sky hangs
low without
movement, the clouds
almost touchable
grey and white, silver.
perhaps the buses
aren't running today,
or are late, or
have taken off
because of the holiday.
it makes no difference.
it's standing here
together, with
a place to go
that seems to matter
more, not
the destination. not
the cold.