Not I

          
Not I
          
The sky is dark – and it is snowing.
The winter's here, with blizzards blowing.
We walkers crawl along the streets,
From Brooklyn's usual briskness, slowing.

The knifing wind is iced and chilly,
Sure to numb a jogger's willie.
But, of runners, there are none.
Haste would now be really silly.

But cars, that race on roads, are seen.
We hear their sluicing – loud, obscene.
It seems this season still can't hinder
Those who must, in cars, careen.

I shiver now in sad defeat,
While watching where I put my feet.
The memories of falls I've had
Remind me – I should be discreet.

For ice, that's glazed on hard cement,
To those, who walk, is inclement.
It slyly waits and slips the weary,
Laughing then at the incident.

And now I have to cross the street,
As snow and rain combine in sleet.
It's better, yes, than freezing rain.
I slip and slide on sneakered feet.

A car, at speed, does cruising go.
It sprays me with the slush and snow.
I wipe the stuff away from glasses,
Hear a honk and jump towards shore.

I land, instead, within the gutter,
Stumble, fall – and curses mutter.
My socks are soaked, I'm bruised and hurting.
Passers smirk at words I utter.

I'd rather dangle from a rafter
Than bear another season after
Autumn.  Yet, while I am sulking,
I hear, behind me – raucous laughter.

It's a trio – youth and maidens,
Striding, all, in cheery cadence,
Smiling, laughing...  So does Wisdom
Tell the cheerless, “See?  Have patience!”

For that, which makes me sad and tearful,
Clearly makes these others cheerful.
While I shiver, cold and lonesome,
They are marching, warm and beer-full.

So, says Wisdom, “You're dejected,
As Fall is by this Beast ejected.
But watch, how those, of Nordic tempers,
By laughing, easily deflect it.”

And so, although I still am peeved,
With effort, I have this achieved:
I've postponed, awhile, my hanging,
Thinking one might be bereaved...

And just as mortals, born, must die,
So this season too will fly.
And some will laugh this winter through.
And some will smile or shrug.  Not I.

I trudge along, upon my way,
And though I'm far from waxing gay,
I still take solace in this fact:
December is.  But then, there's May.

2013 December 14th, Sat.
Brooklyn

http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/05/may.html