Heater Bees Hurt

This grave December wind
Insults me like school-aged
Children calling me different names
For being overweight.

I remember once upon a time
When snow-filled pre-Christmas
Nights never worried me much
As I returned home to the warm.

"We all carry around this hurt"
My father used to say
Or maybe he didn't,
I just wanted a father who would.

There's not much in this life
To complain about as long as
You are alive, and able
To grow a little more.

But its just this sting
At the back of my throat
Like an ornery bee sticking hard
Every time I say your name.