The snow is white enough
to convince grand sun to take
the day off. Thin green needles
protest. They are not loud enough.
See the clouds? It’s not their fault.
Slick soled sneakers slap
cold pavement. We are not warm.
At school, teenagers drag wool scarves
through black slush. Someone wipes
a runny nose with stiff polar fleece.
Somewhere war continues
in bright sunlight. A picnic kind of day,
a day to write home about.