Snow Day Closure

Carolina, you show scant regard for my precooupation

with your blinding intemperate Marchward sky —

Does some meager waning gust sweep this pittance of

last falling snow from unshaken overhead branches?

Not even the footstamps from the postman remain,

nor the underhedge rustle of neighborhood critter.

Now there are porchlights and movements in windows;

The world’s brittle stillness by nighttime has faltered.