(with apologies to Janis Ian)

I learned the truth at minus seventeen
that warmth is lost at blanket seams
layers and layers of fine feathered goose
pulled off in the night aren't much use
and the toasty toes I never knew
woke up this morning a shade of blue
at minus seventeen I learned the truth

An insulated dog at the foot of the bed
dreams of winter hikes in his head
the cat who won't go out 'til Spring
she doesn't dream of anything
and the blue eyed girl with all the blankets
dreams breakfast in bed, maybe pancakes
no dreams are left in me at minus seventeen

And those of us with skinny asses
lacking essential blubber masses
desperately remained at home
ordering long johns on the phone
to only get a pair of diminutive woollies
that cut off blood to our extremities
it is less than it seems at minus seventeen

So remember those who insulated
with building materials all outdated
who thought R factor meant Reduce
now all our homes use too much juice
they squirreled the savings that they made
and retired down in the everglades
not a care for you or me at minus seventeen

To those of us who knew the pain
of chipping ice and thawing drains
and crawling under trailer homes
with welding gear to heat up ohms
we followed up with flaming torches
and burned it down to the cement porches
dumber than we seem at minus seventeen