By Curt Peterson
It shouldn’t have snowed, no, it shouldn’t have snowed
While nothing is yet where it is meant to be stowed.
The mower? Where the pickup should be put away.
And the plow guy will say the pickup’s in the way.
The splitter? The runabout? They’re misplaced as well.
Their intended destination is beyond the snow’s swell.
And what of those thousand fence feet now spiked
Permanently to the ground by that white stuff once liked?
The garage full of junk, trash and undried sheepskins
Won’t allow vehicles to be safely driven in.
And here I sit tapping out words rueful and hazy,
Realizing the problem is, I was just too darn lazy.
It shouldn’t have snowed, no, it shouldn’t have snowed
While nothing is yet where it is meant to be stowed.
