last winter

Who shovels your snow when the new year comes,
when January blows pages off the calendar
with a wicked blast of frozen whistling white?
Is it the half-grown red-cheeked boy,
eager to learn from cold hard struggle,
to scrape your steps, your walk,
to pad his pocket and earn perhaps
a glance from the pig-tailed girl next door?
Or does the appreciated neighborhood hero
venture forth to find your driveway
with his latest howling seasonal machine,
while you watch from behind loose windows
gratefully, through curtains of dusty lace?

Do they know
you once could kiss like springtime,
my tottering frail-but-fair?
Do they know
you shine like summer in my heart?
Do they know
this embarrassed stricken warrior,
bound to his bed in your hidden chamber,
who only longs to clear paths for you
and taste once more the January wind?