Originally posted 1-12-2011; originally titled “Snowstorm.”

If you ever become 
an estranged middle aged son 
of still living old people,
ever become an estranged brother
to middle aged siblings,
ever develop a middle aged
heart, lungs, and back,
you will one day reach a point
when the shovel and the snow
will defeat you, body and soul,
right in the middle of digging out
from another snowstorm
as in a new moment of despair
you realize there is no place left
to put it all; when you realize

that although you long ago
abandoned the swagger of
the over the shoulder shovelful toss
in favor of the carry, tip, and dump method,
there will come a moment 
when your back will nevertheless
feel broken,
your chest will be
caving and exploding,
and you will cough
each time you move.

You will have
a moment of thought about 
how far you are
from your still living old parents
and your middle aged siblings
who are likely standing helpless
in the same storm.

You are going to look up and see
families on your street
digging more vigorously
than you are,
see their children laughing,
see their cars beginning to move.

You are going to think of
your aged parents and
your unhealthy siblings
in the same storm,
struggling as you are to dig out
but doing it together,

and you are going to be 
ashamed.