Blocks of ice

Blocks of ice

Whenever there’s a hint of nippy weather,
I dread the way that it affects my feet.
Despite three pairs of socks,
they become two icy blocks
and no matter how I bang the two together,
they always lose all vestiges of heat.

We always shop December twenty-third
but the fridge is far too small to take our turkey.
My wife says to me, “Pete,
can we rest them on your feet?
That way, we’ll ensure the festive bird
stays at a temperature that’s cool and perky.”

I do the social rounds throughout the year
and never have refused an invitation.
I go round to people’s houses,
chat to everyone and their spouses.
Despite all this, I’ve really no idea
why people say I’ve got bad circulation.