a ship is sinking slowly
in the cold Antartic waters
all the passengers are leaving
and the rescuers are eager
to behold them drinking cocoa
that can warm their little fingers
as the ship that ice has ruptured
settles down
well my driveway isn’t needing
any heroes to the rescue
but the ice-packs came and settled
in hard rows along the bottom
where the snowplow passed and dropped them
just before the air grew cold enough
to freeze the slushy snow cakes
in our town
and I know if I don’t scoop it
drag it off to the side immediately
the gelling slush and snow chunks
that the plowman left there for me
will become a wall that blocks me
as drive out in the morning
and I won’t be able to pass it
without tearing off my muffler
—big thumbs-down
This is delightful to read–the neat rhythm of the lines, the end rhymes, and the rather fey link of rescued passengers to your more mundane vexation with snowplow leavings.
I’m weary of artsy poems that try my patience decoding them. The clarity of your work is as bracing as hot cocoa on a sub-zero day!
Every warm wish,
danae
Glad you like it, danae. I have been experimenting with this rhythmic run-on form lately. Another example from September is “elephant waltz”