Winter Falls On Cedar.

Bright winter morning, the snow flies,
sticking on fir trees and windshields. I trudge
through miles of winterland (just the driveway, really)
I open the door

to my automobile, but it is too cold to start. I trip in
the doorway as I go back inside the house, take off
my hat and coat, and call for a
taxi to take me to work.
The taxi is late;

he calls me fifteen minutes after I'm supposed
to be at work and says, "I can't make it, I'm stuck in the
driveway," with me knowing all the while he is not
stuck in a driveway, frantic to
get to his customer. I know,

at this hour, he has better things to do:
he is at home sipping a brandy in his Spiderman
pajamas, watching a rerun of The Early Morning Show.


(Written Age 22, or 23, forget.)