SNOW SHOVEL BLUES

maybe somewhere today people–
tan, unencumbered
flat-stomached people
are feeling warm sand
forcing its way up between their Edenic toes
underneath protean palm trees

in my delusion
I imagine them
thinking about me
with my dried, cracked knuckles
open to the chilled lake breeze
and my cheap plastic shovel
my lone apologia
against what God hath wrought
all over my driveway and my sidewalk

but why would they care?
and why do I?
there’s life enough for both of us