Cold Showers

I am watching from my desk
what looks like a red-breasted robin
bathing itself in a blocked gutter
I can see from my window.
 
I think I know how it must feel
because the heating is bust
and showers now are ice-cold affairs
involving tottering from foot to foot
 
and little squeals
that would be embarrassing
if there was anyone there
to hear them.
 
I do not pity the robin, though
even with his cold bath
and the unending rain
and the constant threat
of potential predators.
 
He can fly back to his tree, afterall
or pick a new one on a whim
or emigrate even
if robins do that kind of thing.
 
While I am stuck here
in fingerless gloves
and three jumpers
worrying about the rent
 
and the car insurance
and the overdraft
and other things
I do not want to go into
just now.