The Welcome Arches

THE WELCOME ARCHES Still three miles to go, storm’s approaching City’s gone in a white-out Fasten collar, pull down hat, shrink inside coat Snow cloud like a cold-steel razor Slices into my bubble of warmth Lean into the wind, eyes like slits, Face is pained, nostrils frozen Cars swirl past sideways Road, sidewalk, field, all obliterated in white Lost in an icy sea of razor sharp particles Past ditched cars with still-turning wheels Their drivers’ footprints already gone No sense of direction - alone Then to the left, the golden arches of McGonald’s Peer faintly at me through the cloud. I am glad.