Poetry

Snowjob

by Russ Priestley

There is hardly a soul who doesn't remember
all of which we've endured since last November.
Being a hardy New Englander has been a fight
when the month of March displays only white.

Our four feet of snow, rain and some sleet
has caused the icing of every street.
This season when storms have been so steady,
we keep shovels, blowers and rock salt ready.

Saying 'mounds' does not mean a candy bar
and having piles, not a health issue, by far.
The snow will not melt and it can't be stored.
Beyond reasonable doubt, we've all been Gore-d.

If this is 'global warming', we should not let
this person run loose, 'cause it's a safe bet
since he has claimed, lest we forget,
"I'm the one who invented the Internet."

The storms began back in two thousand ten.
We hope we don't see the likes again.
From the North came the Alberta Clipper
with no warning from Al Gore, nor his wife, Tipper.




March 4, 2011


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