December gravitates towards the refrigerator. Swivel-head bottle of water relieves the reddened gardener. Chilled are the Christmas chocolates that melted into gargoyles. Cold beer cheers lunchtimes of tuna sandwiches and tomato salad. The fridge door stands open with blessing. There’s nothing to do in the heat. Cats are barometers. Outside, ants may have taken over the world. Has anyone checked? Cool things, we brought them down from the jungle of supermarkets. Our credit cards last a lifetime. Now we mill delighted at the refrigerator, the sweat of our brow cooling in ice-air. We incline toward siesta on a couch somewhere.