Fifty-Two on the Radar Gun

Ice covers the surface of the birdbath.
The sparrows have no skates.

Nothing disappears.
It is blanketed under snow.

In the colder months I write more
about long scarves and mittens.

The street lights are brighter
reflecting up toward the sky.

A stranger passes by with shovel.
Ten bucks to clear the walkway.

I finger the smoothed object of a snowball
and test my arm’s accuracy on a telephone pole.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s