It was January 6, I was six years old, which would’ve made it
the Sixties, and it was snowing.
Snow filling trash cans like ashtrays. Mom and Dad
distantly fighting the giant snowstorm.
I jellied the donut in my fist and dragged my Cheeto fingers
down the walls of the igloo.
Quiet murmur of voices muted by the snowy insulation.
Snowy machinery. War, a blue sky blower
somewhere else dreaming of rain…
It is snowing snowing and my snow castle is growing cold.
Cold like white poodles cruelly falling from the sky.
Cold like Conrad Aiken cruelly killing his children.
I am watching Silent Snow Secret Snow all alone, Orson Wells
booming about snow, the igloo
growing close, my rosebud cave.
O cold colding! endless snow globe of war. It’s Squid vs. Whale,
Firebird vs. Camaro, McNamara vs. the Jungle, etc, all heavenly white
machinery trapped in a snowy world, it was the Sixties, and it is snowing.