- Non-Erotic Poetry
- It Snowed Last Night
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Someone washed the world in white
while I slept, curled in the comfort
of my woman's arms.
I woke to a land crisp and clean,
crystal down blanketing
the mudspots and scrawny deaths
of things that would flower
come the spring.
The dog left a scratch of steaming yellow
that melted down to some bulb
thirsting in the earth,
and my breath hung momentarily,
then dissipated, lost forever in that cold.
The morning held promises
of toil and sweat with shovel in hand,
clearing a path of freedom for a car
that would acknowledge that kindness
with a grumble and a wheeze.
I ignore each pant and frigid breath.
The shovel scrapes pavement,
and the same sound echoes
up and down the street,
mixed with the oaths of men
bent in thankless work.
I rest, with strong black coffee
in hand. The snowplow passes,
erasing my work as the dog
sleeps contentedly at my feet.
Winter has a cruel
sense of humor.
Redux, November 2004.
- COMMENTS
postobitumover 19 years agofrom someone who has never even seen enough snow to make a snow cone, much less shovel. I really enjoyed this little glimpse into your morning. Thanks!
flyguy69over 19 years agoonly because it hasn't hit here, yet. Then it will turn to muttered curses!
Maria2394over 19 years agoI will never have quite the same affection for a caladium bulb again, you sly man, make me think of unpleasant, ( steaming yellow) things that would NEVER be in my garden :)
however, I did just LOVE this part-
the mudspots and scrawny deaths
of things that would flower
come the spring.
