Wednesday, December 24, 2008

A Winter's Discontent

This is the winter of our discontent,
no metaphor, but solid ice-edged fact.
Though twinkling Christmas lights would fain distract
with sugared promises of merriment,
we're bound in chains of glitter-coated snow
and walls of ice. We're captives of the weather,
slaves in shovel-gangs on icy tethers
digging out our sidewalks high and low.

It's true, this snowfall's modest when compared
to winters in Chicago or St. Paul.
But then, those places keep themselves prepared
and Portland doesn't, I'm afraid that's all.
Twelve inches are a weight we've rarely felt:
O, that this too too solid snow would melt!

To all who've inquired: thank you, we're doing fine. Unlike many people in the Portland area, we've suffered no power outages; we have heat, we have plenty of food, there's even bus service in our neighborhood (yay Tri-Met!) in case we really need to go somewhere.

We're all just going a little stir-crazy.

I'm counting my blessings. While I'm at it, I should ask old Will's ghost to forgive me. Not that he hasn't been misused before...

Collection available! Knocking from Inside


Author Amok said...

Tiel, I love the poem! The last two lines are so clever.

How funny -- my post is on parodies today. Winter must be warping our brains.

Kelly Fineman said...

Awesome Shakespearian sonnet, quoting the Bard, no less. Well done!

I hope that when the rain comes, it washes the snow away for you, and doesn't create some fresh, iced-over hell.