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.