First Snow

the first inkling  we get

comes down on quantum waves of light

from small machines that glide along

the thin divide that separates

our crowded world from endless space

more machines that have replaced

the myth and superstition

of past prediction

filter through the messages we get and

build a myriad of pictures showing

where on earth it will be snowing

once the frigid air slips down

from Earth’s frozen spinning crown.

scientists hunched in darkened rooms

amid the glow of flickering screens

watch these models all unfold

they extrapolate scenarios

and then reveal their expert views

via radio and TV news.

cities wipe the cobwebs from their ploughs

farmers buy more feed for animals

supermarkets jack their prices

homeless shelters ask for blankets

commuters winterize their cars

owners overstock their restaurants and bars

reporters remind all of what to do

and those of us who listen, do

and First Snow comes

down here

down on the surface of our world

the street is suddenly bereft

of life

the pushers and the junkies,

the gangsters are all gone

the hookers close their legs

and tuck themselves away

in hourly motels

safe against the sudden cold

the telephone their brand-new friend

the panhandlers that always haunt

the footsteps of the few that walk

all hunker down and disappear

and even cops prefer

the warmth within

the dry interiors

of Black-And-Whites

to catching criminals at night.

and when I walk

my footsteps do not ring

or echo from the walls

of frozen homes that spout

their furnace heat like smoke

upon the frigid air

I am silent

safe within a mute aloneness

I do not share with others

through swirling white I move

the only thing that does besides

the flashing orange lights

of ploughs that scrape

fresh snow from streets

with fitful sparks
and steaming heat turning to ice
from frozen chimmneys

and in the freeze of polar air

centered in the emptiness

I savor my aloneness

and wonder when

First Snow will come again