Poetry

A Love of Labor

These little flakes pile up.
Our town will be covered.
I will scrape my shovel
Across the concrete walk
Outside my tired old home
In each direction ‘til
I have reached my neighbors.
They talk of a job search,
And the cost of daycare.
The storm demands response;
These little flakes pile up.
Their action a union
That cannot be ignored.
The mess would only get worse.

– john d. powers

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