Robert M. Simmons  

from Morning in Middleborough... (Poems 1991-2006)    

           Snow Madness

It starts in August when the heat

is topic one upon the street.

Sunshine beats down without a pause

in harmony with Nature’s laws,

for Summer still sits on the throne

unleashing Sol to rule her zone.

Despite this warmth, there comes a time

when Winter will be in his prime.

Throughout the town the trend is steady,

men in garages getting ready.

With shovels waiting for the call

and stacks of rock salt standing tall,

they strive with tools and cans of oil

tuning blowers for winter toil,

adjusting this and greasing that

so each will purr just like a cat.

Once all the pieces are in place,

a little early just in case,

because of course you never know

when to expect a heap of snow,

the waiting game slips into gear

until the first snow flakes appear.

Forecasts are followed every night,

and signs are noted left and right,

the color of the morning sky,

sightings of squirrels on the fly,

but only Nature knows the date

when snow will cover Man’s estate.

By Christmas often there are times

when storms envelop northern climes,

and children rise from cozy beds

for days of sliding on their sleds.

Their fathers though have been awake

before the falling of a flake,

eagerly waiting in the wings

to thwart the stuff that Winter brings,

but storms advance at their own speed,

mindless of Man’s impatient heed.

As soon as snow conceals the ground,

men everywhere are outward bound.

Some choose blowers, and some choose plows,

and some their shovels will espouse.

Whichever method they endorse

there is no doubt about their course.

Without a single break they strive

removing snow from walk and drive,

but no one told the snow to quit,

and soon the paths are deep with it.

Like zombies who have lost their brains

they do not feel their aches and pains,

so out they go again to free

their pavement from this tyranny,

and thus the pattern will repeat

until the storm makes its retreat,

but that’s not all there is to tell

about snow madness and its spell.

Just when the labor seems complete

a plow comes roaring down the street

and buries walk and drive below

a sudden avalanche of snow,

provoking men into a rage

that only calmer wives assuage.

After a well selected curse

about life in the universe,

yet once again they ply their skills

retrieving pavement under hills,

and, yes, again the plow appears

fulfilling all of their worst fears.

This time mere words can not relate

the rage resulting from their fate,

so gestures of the hand reveal

exactly how intense they feel.

This winter folly grips the land

until Spring comes to take command,

removing snow from field and street,

rescuing Man from sure defeat.

If your abode is buried deep,

and dreams of snowstorms haunt your sleep,

have faith that Nature’s balance wheel

will help your harried senses heal.

                    © 2003 by Robert M. Simmons

Photograph of snow removal in Middleborough, Massachusetts

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Subjects: poems about, snow shoveling, snow removal, small town life, satire, poetry, poems

Snow Madness