Road Games
Dec 24 2007


Country roads are gravel and sand
rattling with potholes and washboard,
and thumping-big boulders
heaved-up by frost and thaw.

But after fresh snow
and the grader comes and goes
scraping the surface clean,
it gleams snow-blind white
— flat enough for bowling balls or billiards,
ricochet-shots
caroming-off the massive banks on either side.
And on I drive,
playing bumper-cars
as far as it goes ‘til black-top.

At night, the ploughs are blinking beeping beasts,
smoking through diesel
churning-up snow,
their glinting blades shuddering
on rock-hard ice,
and monster tires leaving tread-marks like dinosaurs.
And in daytime, they are bright yellow Tonka toys,
a grizzled driver riding high
tipping his cap at cars.

Folks in brightly coloured parkas
with fur-trimmed hoods
are out walking dogs,
straining at the ends of their leashes
excited by cold.
In the country, dogs bark;
and passers-by wave warmly at strangers,
as if just anyone could be your neighbour.

So I slow down as I pass
peering through the steamy glass
and sheepishly wave back.
Like a friendly game of tag,
passing it along.
Overgrown kids
on the frozen roads
of winter.