Each air conditioner is topped
With its own
mound of snow,
As well as
all the window sills
I see, lined
in a row.
I hear the
blowing snow machines
From down
there on the street,
A background
noise to the more pleasant
Pinging of
the sleet.
The cars are
covered, clad in white,
And won’t be
moved for days,
Though buses
and some SUV’s
Plow through
the wintry glaze.
It’s comfy
in my city home;
There’s
tennis on TV.
With food to
eat and beer to drink,
We’ll get by
cozily.
Tomorrow
will be time to start
To venture
from the nest,
But while
the snow keeps swirling,
Looking out
from in is best.
No comments:
Post a Comment