Footprints

Somewhere in the middle of the snowstorm,

Night fell and trapped me inside its darkness:

Out in the cold, I walked, wishing for warm

Wooly blankets, and wanting to feel less

Foolish for being caught in the open.

Oh, sometimes, I would like a car to keep

Out of the weather like the other men

That make it home in time to fall asleep.

Perhaps I’m paying penance for some crime

Reaped in the past: I can’t imagine what

It could have been. For more than half the time,

Nothing seems to go right; so, then, I shut

The door behind, only to find that no

Signs show more than my footprints in the snow.