Seasons

I am equally terrified
of summer and winter.
My blood might boil in the sun
and burst out of its fragile drains.
The forests will catch fire
and the seas dry up
and the devil himself
will come out and play. 
In winter, I could get stuck outside,
or run out of oil and shiver
until the teeth snap out of my head,
and the sun becomes blue and square.
I think to myself God wears a sweater
inside all day like my dad
and won't let you turn up the heat, ever.
But then temperate seasons arrive
between these severe decrees
and I trust them for a while.