shovel out of frame
- Sebastian Jack
- Dec 7, 2025
- 1 min read
will take a break, appointed task
his making sure our STREETS are CLEAR
of white and ice, about to ask
me WHY I GAZE.. an almost sneer
that only slowly BLENDS with grin
allowing handle loose and fall
whilst wiping brow of snow, HIS SKIN
a splendid mix of sweat and all
---
the SLUSH that comes with dusty streets
when blade of trowel bends at will
to arms that scoop with METAL SHEETS
enfolding frost, and yet he still
REMAINS their LOOKING, hardly moves
with shovel prone on hoar and frost
RESUMING NOT his burden, “YOU’VE
been staring as if somehow lost..”
---
a blizzard merging SQUALL and SQUALOR
cityscape of Christmas brawn
all BROWN and shiny PEARL, our scholar
knower of the lore is drawn
from alabaster hues that bleed
on CRYSTAL POWDER nearly pinned
to brick, it seems to gather, breed..
all SHAPED by GOD and LAID by WIND
---
as my reply, I bend at waist
retrieve the lance that LIES on STONE
of street EXPOSED by warming grace..
and labor for this knight alone
no more, my DON QUIXOTE paired
with loyal Sancho Panza, plain
to us who battle windmills, shared
our knowledge of this STARING GAME..
---
he finds another trident.. drifts
addressed in SILENCE, clearing paths
for SANTAS wishing shop for gifts
duet of scooping.. simple math
where work is divvied, SPLICED and SPLIT
when one plus one is more than three
an avenue of princely grit..
with MINUS snow and ADDED me