Oh, when you’re meant to be there
you don’t bother turning up:
The whole world grinds to a halt
from two millimetres of you
You rock up when we don’t need you
and kids want to throw you around
(school run, 30 minutes late).
When you grow old and dark,
my heels and tyres slip warily on you
Yet the fragility of your freshest flakes
makes the air a magic twinkle
(trees and fresh snowprints).
And being snowed in for days
while annoying, is freeing
(sound of your silence).