If pie had a name
  like Marion Berry 
through the coffee-rusted kaleidoscope
or before a glass of sherry

Beneath the frost-glass eye December blinks

Whatever I cheated on
   or with whom
the blazing coat of woolen sheets 
keeps me free from 

The frost-glass eye of December
glaring

Cages the truth of up and showering
  before I shave
Before I out the door and work
And living through my sherry save

A canister of whipped cream 
  topping pie and I 
Laughing through my sherry 
And making rather merry 

Forgetting eyes of cold December doing nothing
But in the coldness, stare.