Ode to a Plowman

That does it! That absolutely positively rooty-tootie-parootie does it! Every year, whether he deserves it or not, I post my Ode to a Plowman as an oh, so gentle reminder not to plow my driveway in after I have shoveled my way out. But this time! Plow me in if you want to, plow me in if you must, but if I raise a stiff fingered salute to you afterwards, do not return the gesture my way sir, or risk the wrath of my keyboard. The nerve of some people.

Ode to a Plowman

When snow lies deep and drivers creep

Your mammoth wheels churn up my street

a wave from cigar clenched fist.

A grin upon your grizzled face, 

Bringing hard shoves to soft white drifts.

You lower your blade to shave away

all progress my small shovel made.

Onto my fresh cleaned drive you just

pushed a ton of wet street crust.

So, as you prepare to take another turn, 

accept my one finger salute in return.

Next time, Mr. Plowman I do hope

The greetings we exchange will be below

Far beneath these icy streets

where fires burn ever so slow and

if truth 'tis told, there is no snow.

January 1, 2011

January 1, 2011