The Thick of bitter Winter Grips me within inches Of giving up this porch. But Wisconsin gifted thicker coats To get me through this torture. I’m just waiting for Dad To rescue me From my hypothermic shock. He’s never come before And failed again, though Next time he will not. For even the rainy and snowy mixture— Which is a fixture of this state— Could not manipulate the picture, Or create a gaping fissure, In what I want and what I crave: Dad waiting on the doorstep To take me to From whence he came.