Rake

December’s last day—

the rake in the garden shed

is rimed with hoarfrost.

Almost

almost New Year’s Eve—

in the homeless encampment

an old man’s last breath

Last days of the year—

somewhere a hungry barn owl

swoops down on a mouse.

window-shopping spree

during after-Christmas sales—

my empty wallet

first week of winter—

clutching my grandson’s left hand

for our long walk home

After Christmas Day

the blackbird sings more sweetly

than he did before.

Christmas afternoon—

a cold wind from the northwest

makes the juncos flinch.

on a wintry night

a castoff baby howling

from the dumpster’s depths

two days till Christmas—

across the snowy terrace

a frigid wind blows

too close to Christmas

to get over my sore throat—

croaking out carols