35
White flakes float from
the white sky
and dogs are rough
housing with the kids.
I remember when Dad
confronted the neighbors
after their son had
bloodied my iced nose.
He was white with anger
and I was cold.
As I walk down the
street to the store
the neighborhood kids
are at it again,
living in the snow,
building snow houses.
I remember how the cold
didn't affect my young bones,
but now I'm old, and I
am making dinner tonight.
Copyright © Anonymous Poetry | Year Posted 2013
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