|Jan/Feb 2013 Poetry Special Feature|
it was snowing, inexplicably
We were out that day in the blizzard,
pinpricks in black in our effort
to navigate the way back home. No,
it had never snowed before in these parts.
Ours is a town hidden from frost;
the winters are always such a joke.
When the snow came, it did
without the consent of normality
handed down from generations
to generations; it was rather an aberration.
We poked our hooded heads out the window
Finally, we'll celebrate Christmas, Hollywood style!
We're not even Christians;
the Yule season only exists
on our televisions. Still,
didn't stop us
from running out into the white;
it was brilliantly fine, frozen,
and tasted far better than
bottled mineral water.
Let's make a snowman, somebody tried to say
but they got pummelled with a snowball,
and the idea was lost in the fray.
We scattered, still gleeful,
our battle-cry shaking the town,
unmindful of the tireless snow
that was coming on stronger;
it was no longer
a pleasant surprise.
It was a storm, giant-sized.
Fearful, confused, we turned around,
pinpricks in the hungry snow,
and tried to find the way back home.