I wake to a muffled world
where the curtains shine with a sepia tint.
Somewhere, I hear a faint rustle of ticker tape,
falling in drifts.
It is eerily quiet as I peek out
half knowing the reason.
A magician, up all night,
has covered the garden,
deadening the air with nature’s Kapok.
A bandy legged primate, waterproofed, uncertain
overtakes a drunk car, failing its sobriety test.
I smile with guilty pleasure.
Routine dissolves as flakes on the windows.
Any thought of work drips from the sill
To form an icicle of excuses.
A family of Michelin people
waddle in vague trails,
their usually confident tread undone
as the kerbs shift and slip to unexpected places.
Inappropriately shod fashionistas
curse their vanity.
I skip outside.
As if in need of oil.
The smothered hawthorn emerges at my touch
releasing a cloud of hissing white gas.
Everywhere unthreatening Hoodies
reveal glimpses of childhoods re-found.
Dogs frolic in their demented ignorance,
Catching never quite there balls of cold white dust
Shaking away their surprise.
Inside the Park a new physics applies.
Cool mannered, indifferent teenagers
Armed with their lightweight ordnance,
Everyone laughs at their hapless aggression.
Young families, paroled by snow
from school and work
play god and mould a choir of obese people,
accessorized with twigs and vegetables,
while all defy homespun codes of practice
on the importance of
keeping warm and snug.
The enfeebled sun fights to dampen
It wins as cars retake their streets,
spewing a grey gloop from their callous tyres.
I slither home, uphill whichever way I go.
Unaccustomed muscles growl, frozen fingers
protest, each jab and squeeze
waking me from my illicit
dreaming, leaving my love affair with snow
in puddles on the parquet.