The unexpected snow, disruptive,
in ways more burdensome,
than mere fender benders and
swapping travelogue commutation miseries

ah, the tv reporters regale
with snow tales, human fails,
but where do you hear
of the children
burnt once by fire
then again, now,
again!
burnt by snow.

here, hear, listen here

technology moves forward,
grafting new shells of skin
on burnt children,
but tonite you're cozy thinking
of your valentine's heart,
not of the little ones,
whose hearts are unprotected,
by what we take so for granted

beneath our protective gloves and coats, scarfs and boots,
our prophylactic human skin,
theirs, fire ravaged,
now re-hazardous,
by southern snows burning

these children hurt,
unexpectedly,
cannot play in the snow that came so
unexpectedly,
lest it burn them worse*

"in the children's burn unit, postponed all surgeries except 'emergency'.  Two days of outpatient clinic patients forced to reschedule,. That then, postpones their surgeries, second step grafting, etc. Our vents ran smoothly I heard via the generators, unlike last outage. We had to ambulance each individual patient.

I dread going in tomorrow but small comfort,
it will be warmer than my cold home."

Life first, poetry second

he listens to me in vermont
as i breathe in new york
the slow labored tones
of sleep.

from a scratched house by a ****** park
to a rich wooden cottage deep in snow-hushed woods
my moose listens to my little sighs
and groans
and going-to-sleep-noises.

the way he clears his throat comforts me.

In dark dreams
I walk again
those empty
hospital corridors

with their dull lights
and smell of disinfect
and death
in those dreams

I look for you again
my son
passing by
the blanks faces

of others
looking at
their eyes
for glimpses of life

or concern
or such  
as humans
sometimes have

I go by
room after room
pass porters
pushing

the occasional trolley
by the various
side wards
passing by

the bright lights
of hospital shops
in the dream
I am hoping

to find you once more
sitting there
on the bed
your back turned

your head lowered
but this time
I am hoping
for a healthier you

my son
not one so ill
so lost
in this dream

sunlight shines
through the window
of the small ward
a bird sings

not that dull curtain
the murmur
of voices
the usual limbo like

air about the place
this time my son
I wish to find you well
looking at me

with your own
familiar smile
not that haunted
expression

and tired eyes
that draw from me
a steam
of deep felt cries.

I etched your name into my skin with a cigarette.
I filled your empty space with liquid poison.
I deluded your image with vivid dreams.
I forgot your scent with unwavering time.
Despite all this though, I never actually forgot you.