Do you remember waiting for the bus
in the early morning snow
smelled the frost and cold exhaust
frozen nose hairs (and the sharp
burst of cold air in your lungs)?
I was a dragon, mittened, bundled,
waddling, misting poison gass,
smoking like an absurd locomotive
in my bright ensenbleof primary colors
while the salt glittered with rainbows
of antifreeze on the pavement.
We did a dance so that our toes would not fall off
So happy to be zipped in up to our chins
mittens tucked up inside the sleeves
only waiting to shed all the layers
socks wet, hair tangled
everything un-tucked
when we come tumbling
inside from recess.
But the bus is still coming
childhood ambitions still unfulfilled
Castle forts are only the biggest snowbanks,
the lightning-speed rocket still only the playground slide,
packed down with snow.