When the snow came it filled the empty streets
and lay white pillows under the wheels of cars,
jamming them up to sleep. It spread sheets over chimneys
as if over noses. It made an old man fall.
It made streetwise eyes confused
and it befriended only the children.
Amid the falling of pillow-feather snow
they broke open chunks of pillows on each other’s coats,
yelling in the eerie noon-day silence.
Civilization curled up and slept
leaving only people who helped each other,
hugging the shoulders of cars to wake them up,
clearing the garden path of an old lady,
asking the weak if they needed any groceries.
“Dog eat dog” became “you scratch my back…”
Then the warm bed-linen and cosy pillows
all melted and were sluiced away
into a million drains built for the purpose.
Normality regained its composure.
And the drunks outside keep me awake at nights.