Cold in the nest

Shiver not in the cold of dawn
No mist from my breath
My dampened scarf
Smothering wet heat.

No swipe at a fly
No scratching that bite
No smack for the bug
That’s chewing my neck

Dry mouth, sore eyes
Full bladder and I’d kill for a piss
I think I’ve still got feet and
Wet sausages for fingers

The cramp’s getting worse
And my back is a mess
The hold swinging gently
An eight is its quest

Then glass captures movement
So BRASS I address
A punch in the shoulder
And back home to bed.