Richard Ochberg has a sense of humor about all the snow the heavens have sent us.  Now in March, hopefully the end is in sight.

A ‘Weak’ of Snow       

On Sunday, when it starts to snow

I tell my husband to drive slow

Does he listen? No he doesn’t

There are times I wish he wasn’t

On Monday, as it still comes down

I warn my husband not to drown

A thing you’d think by now he’d know

But you can never tell with snow

On Tuesday, when the snow continues

I ask him to nail shut the windows

Which he does, though I can tell

He wishes I would go to hell

A sentiment, I fear, we share

Though I, of course, wish he were there

On Wednesday, when the snow instead

Of looking white, looks made of lead

I curse the simpleton who said,

“Hooray for snow, let’s find the sled!”

On Thursday, when the sleet

Steals every molecule of heat

And turns it into something frigid

I feel myself becoming rigid

With the unexpressed desire

To set his silly beard on fire

On Friday, when it turns to ice

I think that it would be so nice

To be in some exotic land

Lying naked in the sand

Or else on some sun-dappled jetty

Instead of here, with this Yetti

On Saturday, the sun peaks through

A moment, then a wedge of blue

Appears—and seems inclined to grow

Is this for real—how can we know?

And slowly, slowly, I remember

How we loved–before December

Of all the woes with which snow’s cursed

The cost to romance is the worst

_______________________________________

To have your work considered for the LYRICAL send it to:
Doug Holder  25 School St. Somerville, Mass. 02143
dougholder@post.harvard.edu