Forecast

winter storm warning

suburban survival mode;

in my neighborhood big y  

gnarled yankees cruise the aisles

to “relax” by frankie goes to hollywood.

the lyrics, have you heard those lyrics?  

and, embarrassed to make eye contact,

i inspect a carton of brown eggs, jumbo.

over the parking lot february sky tang of gunmetal, waiting.

i loved winter’s worst as a child;

the night before full of prospect and ritual

(no school, home with my mom, spoon under the pillow, pajamas inside out).

i still feel stirrings of that same wild hope when winter storms portend,

only now, wiser, with little to gain,

i wish, instead,

i’d learned to ski.