dark winter mornings
the voice of my father
rattling my bedroom door
get up and shovel snow
in the frozen predawn blue
from the wine dark sky
large white flakes pelting
up the rutted dirt and gravel driveway
when done dreading
this will happen again
in darkness after dinner
into the warm wood-heat
stripping wet ice encrusted clothes
a steaming hot shower
and catch the news school’s closed
relief and joy doubled
when the clouds break
and the sun comes out
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