Selected Poems
Hillside
We trudge uphill crunching
through hazing rock salt clouds
swirled from southbound cars
rushing before an ice storm.
North bound bus passengers stuck
watch us walk, Bedouins in a sand storm
wrapped against the cold. We pretzel and
cross arms to hold our thin coats closed.
As rock salt stings eyes and cracks lips,
we laugh, savour saving some time.
Still, busmen wait, believe it's not fair.
We don't have enough change
to wait and take two buses home.
through hazing rock salt clouds
swirled from southbound cars
rushing before an ice storm.
North bound bus passengers stuck
watch us walk, Bedouins in a sand storm
wrapped against the cold. We pretzel and
cross arms to hold our thin coats closed.
As rock salt stings eyes and cracks lips,
we laugh, savour saving some time.
Still, busmen wait, believe it's not fair.
We don't have enough change
to wait and take two buses home.
