Gods and goddesses tempt us,
pull mind and flesh to choose
between commercials
hawking sloth and greed,
or the new and improved
comforts that never last
as long as we do. Raining
cold in my face, she suggests
the woodstove waits
for coffee and company, that
old men can catch their deaths
looking up canyons for silhouettes
of cows and calves that grazed
early morning’s ridgeline.
Her running mate reminds
that I won’t rest easily by the fire
not knowing—and vows to come along
to make the wet ride fun.
drycrikjournal 
great transitions–third stanza’s first line works particularly, double-entendre well.
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