who would've guessed

A scarf in my mailbox

I pulled it out with a grimace.
all I expected were
bills

I stared at it confused.
It was new, never worn.
What was it doing here?

Of all things,
the specialized Wisconsin
cold weather gear in the closet.
I'd never consider a scarf
always on sale in springtime
made out of wool and fleece and
cashmere. every possible tactile
expensive material–

A scarf, what the hell would I do with that?
Buy a pair of matching gloves? Ah, horseshit.

Then what, silk boxer shorts and
walking around in a bathrobe, burning
mood candles and incense?

A scarf.
Isn't that why I have a beard?

Standing on my porch
confronting a strip of fabric.
its audacity for just being.

The scarf was already here, I decided,
no point throwing it away

I glared at it on the floor of my room
for some weeks
until an exceptionally cold morning
made me curious enough

I never found out who put it there, or why,
the Bermuda triangle of my winter

But that person,
that elusive accessory giving Santa
the function minded fashionista
whoever they were
they were right