Ain't What It Used to Be (Editor's Work)

The streets are dusted with the soil of faraway places,

blown in on the backs of warmish breezes.

We didn’t know it would be like this,

the Midwestern winter no longer recognizable.

Gone are the ten-foot hills of snow along ice-slick streets,

tunnels that semis, buses, and minivans worry will close in on them.

Gone are the snowflakes hitting the frozen ground,

snow like sheet cake,

layered shades of white,

the top fresh and light, smooth like icing,

a shovel a spoon for a giant

taking a bite out of the landscape.

I call out for the setting sun to reflect

upon a crystalline countryside where I can sink my boots in deep

like I did as a child, snow past my knees.

Instead, I trek across a parched golden vista

and shut my eyes to the sun.