Umbrellas in a Snowstorm
Dec 31 2007


They’re forecasting snow showers
with gentle gusts.

And I picture a naked man, all lathered-up
whistling cheerfully,
standing outdoors as the flakes come down
scrubbing his back with a sudsy brush.

Or southerners, prepared for showers,
mushing through slush
bent under black umbrellas,
the fabric strained
by heavy clumps of stuff.

Or white confetti,
showering its praise down on me, bent double;
because heaven smiles
on those who shovel.

In a blinding blizzard, driven by wind
snow bites hard
— stinging the eyes,
and freezing naked skin.
Like a cold shower in a monastery,
distracting the mind from sin.