a poem by Anthony G. Amsterdam
Everything is canceled: schools shut,
airports down, cars on the Interstate and
Bypass nothing more than menthol butts
ditched by bored, impatient
winter gods that wait their turn,
stamping snowy boots in cemetery
parking lots. Another flurry
makes their dead-white faces churn.
Old people will die tonight,
drool lichening their chins
in hobo towns and hospitals
where backup power stalls
and pale necrosis spins
arachnid webs. A strobing light
marks the crash scene of an ambulance
whose shattered driver never had a chance.
Color disappears. The sky is blinding silt.
And suddenly we know
deep in the mind=s cold floe
how transient is this world we’ve built.
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