Snowpocalypse, January 2006

Mostly, I remember what happened after he left for good. 

The snowstorm, dubbed “snowpocalypse” by everyone 
paying attention to the weather reports’ frenzied warnings, 
had dumped what looked like entire bags of flour over everything. 
The super had left two good shovels, a jug of cat litter, 
and some stray scraps of chicken wire for traction. 

I had to pay two college boys a six-pack of beer 
and the money I’d been saving for Valentine’s Day 
to shovel out the driveway, so my downstairs neighbor 
and I could take turns moving our cars for the plow, 
with its yellow maw, to clear the small cement plat. 

I stood at my window watching them scoop and drag, 
scoop and drag, joking and jostling with each other— 
the prospect of a good party tonight a worthy reward. 

I thought I might leave the Christmas light bulbs up 
on my deck a little longer this year to light the snow.