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is a sullied mess of slush
and people falling all over themselves
a first snowfall only looks good in pictures
i am tired of the work day
seven hours of screaming children
seven hours of adults whining over scandal rags
and my right foot has a gallon
of ice cold water swirling around in it
they are having a snowball fight
in front of the chinese restaurant
that hangs dead roasted ducks in their window
like a culinary harbinger of doom
two girls hurling snowballs
and giggling like idiots in the sundown shiver
i recognize them from only hours earlier
and do my best to skirt past them
a snowball gets me right on the my cheek
right in my left eye
but oh the way their giggles cease
when i spin and turn on them
flick snow off my rose-bloomed face
hiss and call the one girl holding a fresh snowball
a fucking moron
before turning and hobbling down the block
like an old man cast in streetlight silhouettes
forgetting that life back on childhood streets
fighting for my pride in snowdrifts
a contrast in time and chance
as the girls' revelry kicks up anew.
Article © John Grochalski. All rights reserved.
Published on 2018-04-02
Image(s) are public domain.
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