The Conservation of Charity
Minus nine degrees outside
an hour after sunrise.
The plastic taped
over the window pane
was covered with ice
as I pulled aside
the doubled-lined drapes.
The cat's ears were cold
as I rubbed them with my thumb.
I couldn't see my breath,
but it was 60 degrees when I jumped
from the cocoon-like shelter of the covers.
How, I wondered,
were the babies and the mothers
feeling under the condescension
that consigned them to decide
heat or eat,
since any heating assistance provided
by compassionate conservatisim,
since helping others only serves
to make them dependent,
a moot point once they've frozen -
either that or starved to death.