The Poet is Not a Meteorologist

 From walk of Thursday,, February 7

A giant snow storm?
In my imagination.
The sun is shining.

"Winter's getting long";
"Be careful what you wish for"--
(Some useless statements).

Ribbed clouds in the sky;
Shadows falling on the road;
Where is the snow storm?

Buddha and shovel--
One is waiting for the snow;
Other's just waiting.

 

Iced tributary
Doesn't make it to the stream;
Frozen in mid flow.

 

The bench is empty;
It faces the empty house,
Filled with memories.

Down in the deep glen,
A man walks a big black dog;
Different universe.

A piece of tin trash,
Hurled by the side of the road;
 It's Budweiser Lite!