This Winter is Warmer than Last
The snow is not settling
and this year I am glad
because it won’t stain the
suede of my boots.
Where I grew up,
the possibilities of a white winter
were, at best, flatulent.
I knew about possibilities because,
when I was eleven,
or maybe ten,
I won the lottery in the very
loosest sense of the word:
A lump sum of £47.
Fourty-seven,
or maybe fourty-eight,
trips to the corner store
and a dentist’s caution later,
I was a pauper again
but oh, how wealthy.
Now, I’m cocooned in crispy white
and the grass is green
and I’m still cold.
I could only hope to be wealthy.
