lift with the legs and throw

it feels like it’s been snowing forever

shifting sheets of white and grey

covering what I knew of the sun

smudging the margins of day

into endless hours of night.

three days in, the city plows

have fallen behind, and all the routes out

are lethal. twice today

they’ve come to scrape our road

packing dense piles of dirty snow

into the mouth of the drive.

and twice today I’ve booted up

to attack that pile, my old dog

mad for the snow, leaping at the shovel

with every throw — lift with the legs

and throw. lift with the legs and throw.

just like my dead father commanded

when he passed the shovel to me.

lift with the legs and throw —

but he somehow forgot to tell me

that shoveling never ends

there’s always another storm

another plow in the night

coming to choke to drive.

this is men’s work –

dark, cold, heavy and wet.

so back out we go —

lift with the legs and throw

the black dog leaping

biting at the snow.

lift with the legs and throw. again.

lift with the legs and throw.

what choice do we have

but lean into the darkness

and throw?  study the dog –

swallow the storm

leap at the sky –

bite at the snow.

© 2019 jafink/oldbonesnewsnow.com