I complain about

the cold weather outside

while I sit on my bed

in my cozy fleece robe,

amid comfort-filled quilts

from family and friends.  

Here in my own room full of books,

mementoes, partially finished projects,

a closet crammed with clothing,

some just taking up space,

and “my life and loved ones” 

picture gallery, I sip hot tea,

play games and communicate electronically.

 

In open exposure and barest

of shelters, some hunker down

under whatever scrounged materials

might offer protection from elements

of weather, disasters, or

human acts of violence.

Vital and sentimental possessions;

loved ones as well, lost or

abandoned in haste for survival.

With growling stomachs

they doze and pray

for a little relief. 

 

Self, just shut up your murmuring.

You should be ashamed.

And I am