White Xmas
the plow-shoved streets
boast wounds
from the tramp of boots,
scabs of dirty snow
left by angels
in a world of broken feathers
fallen too far down to look up
and see heaven’s dome.
lords, journeymen, wretches
relegated and designated,
surly prancers, comets, vixens and cupids
as liable to moods
as the cold-warm, Fahrenheit-fickle sun.
watch them strain and falter
under snowflake-reins of diamond and grit,
maybe glimpse the Great Hobo,
the subway his sleigh now,
as he ho-ho-ho’s for the happy child
born under a privileged star.
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