it all comes down at once like
God’s dog knocked over the flour jar
and set the city into a heap of
unmade creation,
more than anyone could reckon with,
(although it happens once or twice a year)
and everyone forgets their manners and their
children loitering like adults and
businessmen running half-cocked down sidewalks.
False wars are won here, by the strength of
elbow and the integrity of a snowball,
and plows turn parking-lots into
new and unnamed mountains.
Oh, it’s lovely all right,
knee-deep snow,
lovely for those who have a home to keep to,
those who don’t need worry have
less to worry about, somehow,
and those with leaky roofs,
faltering furnaces,
no walls at all,
see the snow a bit deeper.

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