The Cold Van

Some mornings in the wintertime
are hard to tolerate.
I start the engine in my truck;
for warmth, I then must wait!

The vents blow cold, so long, it seems.
Then, fin'lly, hot air nears!
A mem-o-ry from one year back,
routinely, then, appears.

With me you were. You'd spent the night.
That morn was frigid, too.
You asked me if I'd start the van;
to warm it up for you.

For, starting early on that day,
you did necessitate.
'Cuz Denny had a hockey game
and woe if you were late!

"No problem." I responded.
And with pleasure, I complied.
I started up your vehicle
then, back I came, inside.

We chatted on the sunroom couch;
our normal morning place.
but soon 'twas time for you to plan,
the cold outside, to face.

We parted with affection which
would, fast melt, any snow.
But you came back, quite quickly.
Why this was, I did not know.

The reason for this swift return;
the guess was anyones'.
Then you exclaimed, "I went out there
and nearly froze my buns!"

"You didn't set the knob to Heat
or, turn to High, the fan.
I thought it would be toasty.
It was freezing in that van!"

Yes, I messed up. I did indeed.
I meekly took the blame.
I know, well, I'm not perfect;
nor that, ever did I claim.

But Winter's here, now once again.
On these cold mornings I'm
still willing to start up your van.
I'll do it right this time.