Chocolate cake for breakfast, coffee,
and a snowstorm that heavies the branches
so the apple tree is stripped into two trunks.
All the cars stuck on the street, my love bright
in their heavy boots to rescue, drive tracks
others may follow. Now also stuck.
The fool had to appear here somewhere,
why not in our reflections?
Yesterday I made a mistake and could say
my shame is also permeating, came down
at 4am, needs to be shoveled, is white,
blinding, and if I don’t take breaks
from lifting it, will give me a heart attack.
I drove these tracks myself, thinking
they would save me, now unable to move
backward or forward. Give me a push,
won’t you? I know to keep my foot
on the gas, not to stop
for thank yous, but wave at the shape
of your body standing in the street.
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