Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Presumably, too divine

vague skies
haven't much to say
after the snow has fallen,
after the plows, away,
throw salt down and move on,
chased by low temperatures
in the night, useless,
on the black-top streets
slick with black ice,
to bridges buried in white,
current slowed
under thick sheets, the
mighty Potomac sleeps
and in her swampy city
beyond, sat in still-life
standstill, the weight
of winter, icy gears groan,
traffic ground to halt,
empty office, workaday fears,
impending doom of
forgotten lunch hours, bi-
weekly pay checks, bored,
for hours move on, and
pre-paid, the clean-up,
go-around, an obstacle for the
production mind to

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