Twinkling, descending, clear shafts
Drip helplessly from
Garage roofs, and
Ice takes shape of pealed
Paint along the house-side,
And I’m glad because at least once a year my
Baker Street home sparkles with vitality like
The ones in my sugar
Plum dreams that came too
Early for Christmas anyway.

I’m poised on the porch
Torched with sagging snow
Gear my mother deems necessary
For flu season, but really
I’m just a malfunctioning
Weeble Wobble- I could
Crumble within the snow,
Become one with the weather
And erode away with winter,
But at least I’m equipped.

I reluctantly step onto
The arctic floor-
"Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed."
But my foot will only meet grass
When my padded knees greets the
Snow frosted top.
My legs commit foreign attack on
The city of snowflakes and angels
Packed upon my front lawn-
I push to the center of the lawn.

I become tired and
Start
To fall

On my back.
Tiresome and treacherous
Neighborhood children charging for my yard

“HEY, JOHNSON! JOHNSON, LOOK!”

“I don’t know if I can have friends ove-“

“Look what we made, Johnson, we made
Snow Lemonade. We want
You to try it
First.”

They hand me a Mason jar
Full to the top of something that
Resembles a slushy you might
Find at the local gas station,
But mother doesn’t trust
Hand Sanitation of fuel pumps,
Not to mention the inside store.
And I can’t help but think to myself
How kind the older boys were
To share such a treat with me.

But once I take a swig,
My joyous snow day doth cease.