I suited up
With base layers and down
To walk in the two inches
Of frozen stillness,
Boots crunching on ice prints
From earlier walkers and their dogs
The two miles to our Post Office box,
A voyage I probably could have made by car
But with some risk because Southerners
Don't know how to drive on ice,
And having picked up the mail,
I am drinking the cooled-down half
Of what I call a small coffee,
Though the guy at the counter
Spins the company yarn
That it is tall,
And listening to the very pleasant music
Of conversation from nearby tables
And watching the happy theater of friends meeting
And families out together on this school snow day,
And all the while thinking
That this is what we have a nation for,
To facilitate these little living moments
Of natural and human beauty
Playing in countless neighborhoods and coffee shops
In thousands of towns and cities
Throughout a large country
Where billionaires and politicians
Fight over the scraps of power,
Never understanding that the objects of their lust
Are as dead as the roadkill
Frozen beneath last night's glistening blanket
Of snow.
Written by Jim Weber
(c) Copyright 2025 Jim Weber. All rights reserved.