Inertia

This late snowfall
an afterthought,
though the calendar
still insists otherwise.
Inside me now a refusal
to clear the walk
knowing the temperature
will rise tomorrow.
Is this hope?  Been
so long, I’m uncertain.
It may be instead
surrender, white flag
waved in the white face
of more on top of so much.
Story of my life,
lately, this unwillingness
to negotiate with
relentless
and impersonal events;
I don’t want anything
to happen —
at least, nothing
this cold.