Baby, it's cold outside

Baby, it’s cold outside 

It was outside a JC Penny’s 

at 14 years old

when I saw a grandmother with a Tom Selleck mustache

that I knew 

the majority of people

are full of shit;

call it a sign of the times

or the writing on the wall,

but if I hear this comedian 

blame the Baby Boomers one more time

I’m gonna boycott his Instagram

and DM him asking,

“Just what do you think your responsibility is?”

Take Frank Loesser for instance,

the man wrote the song 

to perform with his wife

at their housewarming party 

in December.

I guess

a playful duet,

a few suggestive lines,

and a tall stemmed glass 

are too much,

but penetration

and anal sex

can be shown on Twitter.

Changing lyrics 

to the song 

is like reordering 

the plot of the Bible,

is it uncomfortable

for the hero to die

in order to come back to life?

Why not have him

skin his knee

and afterwards when mommy 

licks his wounds

he can wear a bandaid

while he saves the world.

“Interesting, huh?”

“What?” you ask. 

“That I end up doing

what it is

I dislike.”

You look at me

as if I’m overthinking

and walk away.

Like the movie 

with Sean Connery 

about an old writer

and an urban kid

forming an unlikely friendship

becoming an inspirational mentorship

made for $43 million,

or the woman 

that just walked by me on the sidewalk

named Jennifer

who went by Jen

that I wanted to call Jenny

who was a morning vape pen

followed by two afternoon bowls

and a night cap of Ambien.

Attention Deficit Disorder 

is the new HIV

when she couldn’t sit down and watch TV

without her eyes switching between that screen

and the one in her hand

or maybe

just possibly 

what was more interesting 

was on her phone

and that says 

more about the quality of programming

then it does about the majority of blonde women’s 

mental stability.

“What’s that got to do with anxiety?”

“Everything, really,” I respond.

A Saturday night,

a board game,

I open a beer 

and hear a kid say something about me

that I know

he’s only repeating;

the next morning,

different kid,

and it happens again. 

It’s like 

we’re dealt a hand

and in order to win 

we’ve got to realize

we can tell the dealer to shuffle again.

The roads we go down

are longer

and more difficult

then the ones 

we have to travel;

“You know what’s harder than life?”

“What?” you ask.

“Changing it.”