Monday, December 29, 2008


The snow fell and fell and I only thought
Of the dreaded shoveling to be done,
Counted the seconds as flakes piled-up, fought
With myself, asked how long should I wait? One
Two, three, four hours, or more before we’d got
Too much for my unsteady heart - a ton.

While I fretted, from up and down the street
Hooded faces exploded through doorways,
Like rebels from dark forest hideaways;
Kids with their mouths double-bound in scarves, feet
Booted; they lined up along my walkway
Straight as a firing squad, counted to three,

And all at once fell backward, dropped flat, played
Dead: Arms and legs flapped like convulsing geese
Blown clean from the sky (but not quite deceased);
Then they lifted themselves like spirits, gazed
Down at the shadow imprints they had made
Where their departed bodies had once laid.

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