You force your once warm breath
into your gloved palms.
Stood there on the corner,
flickering street light above,
you attempt, with shaky hands,
to zip up your coat:
all red and green.
Your brightly coloured scarf
trails behind you into the night.
A moment later and it's lost to Boreas,
flying past a late-night-driver
whose car screeches out festive tunes
to the bruises he's sporting:
all black and blue.
The turpid winds howl as they
clutch at your heels.
Shivering ever more,
you hold onto the presents
in your hands even tighter,
scrunching up the wrapping paper:
all white and gold.
