The weight of snow

There’s something tugging on the trunk of me. shaking everything free. But it’s not as freeing as it sounds. I ventured out into the world today. I saw a middle-aged Hispanic busboy waiting patiently for two overweight middle-Americans to leave their table so he could do his job and clear their empty glasses. Of course they didn’t see him. they took their time, oblivious. And when they left he dumped the watery cokes, wiped the table and cradled the tip like eggs in his hands to get clean what was underneath. He set the folded bills down gently in the middle of the table for the waitress.
the roads make spines through the snow. I’m deep. without confidence. Unsure how to dig myself out of this one. Sometimes I feel I’ve drank too much of the water. I want to give up and then someone tells me to go deeper. But instead I go back to the beginning. Wonder what all the work was for. Hear myself say it’s for the next poem, but I don’t feel it. Not yet anyway.

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