Shovelling Snow

Feb 29 2012

Shovelling snow.

Shedding clothes

layer by layer.

The ruddy glow, the frozen nose

sniffle-dripping.

Giving-in

to my inner obsessive,

fussing over ruled edges

sheer cuts.

I begin straight down the centre,

and finish by sweeping up

the last dusting of snow.

And then, the shovel is neatly stowed

in its appointed place.

This is how we serve our cars

which are otherwise ignored,

left out in the storm

salt-stained, and stoic.

As they convey us faithfully

shuttling to and fro

in dryness and warmth,

peering out

at winter.

I grunt

heaving and lifting,

think

about heart attack victims

who were sure

they were far too young.

About minor victories

that go unsung.

Propped

on my trusty shovel

in contented smugness,

bourgeois duty

done.

And think about sun

that will surely come

in 2 short months,

melt it all

to nothing.

Make my pride ridiculous

my precision embarrassing,

such neatness

hardly necessary.

But in the dead of winter

it’s hard to figure

on spring.

So I clean.

To keep nature in its place

the next ice age

from grinding our homes

to smithereens.

Crushing

human conceit

under mile high mountains

of snow.