It’s cold inside
Like a bowl of soup
On a cold day
That your host
Is proud to say:
Is not pumpkin
from the fairy godmother
Or potato leek
perfected by the little rat
Or chicken with noodles
for your soul
Not split pea
for the princess
Or lentil for
your wild brother
But rather she boldly proclaims
Is “gazpacho”
To raucous applause
From a two-toned room
Stuck
In polite affirming
But you
Are cold and dank
And so is
Your soup
When all you wanted
Was a bowl
With mist circling
Its rim
With a caution sign
On its side
Telling you
To handle with care
While it warms you
From within