We had a week’s worth of snow days for our first week of the half term, which meant that despite setting work and trying to get stuff done around the house, I actually had a bit of time on my hands. Struck by inspiration today, I sat and wrote a poem. It’s not in any way serious, although the actual physical acts described did actually happen. Part way through writing something serious I just decided it was too good an opportunity for something silly and so changed the way it was going. I hope you like it.
Icebreaker
After two days trapped in limbo by first, several whole inches of snow
and now an actual coating of not only quite thick but also horribly slippy ice,
action is called for.
And when people call for action you'd like to think it's you they have in mind...
You've already lugged the deadweight of a kid's beach bucket full of grit for miles across this frozen corner of West Yorkshire.
Your back, damp with manly sweat, is already hurty.
Now, you stand in what is either a power pose or your audition for Drag Race, shovel in hand even though the snow has made it's metal handle really cold and you've forgotten your gloves.
The only bloke in the street brave enough to tackle the ice. Behind their curtains they watch you, rapt, you think.
Frankly, if you're forced to say so yourself, you're a hero.
They will call you Icebreaker. Maybe.
Seizing your tool and raising it high,
you plunge it at the ice.
It rebounds with force but your teeth remain intact.
Oh, for an axe.
Not to be deterred, you plunge once more and a whole whisp of snow
leaps into the air...then lands back on the very ground you were working on.
Nevertheless, your momentarily spirits soar.
You thrust once more, again, again and again, ignoring the cold and mindful, ever mindful of the imaginary fact that the whole street are watching and probably, later on, will take to their doorsteps to clap their appreciation of their hero key worker, only stopping when the last of the snow is gone.
Ten minutes later, wheezing and clutching your back,
you limp back to the house, muttering and licking the bleeding knuckle
that you nicked on your own spade,
having cleared an entire two square feet of treacherous snow and ice.
In your mind you are a gladiator who fears no foe.
In the hallway mirror you look like Albert Steptoe.
So, there you go. Luckily, I’m well practiced at laughing at myself, what with being a bit of a kn**head and all. In my defence it was very cold and the ice was very thick. I went out later and did more as well. And before anyone questions my logic, there’s a bit of a grit shortage so I was keen to use a little bit and then dig the rest of the ice out, saving some grit for later.
I have to say, it was a poem that I really enjoyed writing. I haven’t written or finished one in ages, but this one is more or less a first draft. I wrote it down in my note back with a few arrows pointing to late additions when I changed my mind about its seriousness.
I hope you enjoyed it. Maybe it’ll raise a smile the next time your clearing some ice and snow. If you’re as heroic as me, that is!
Middle Age Fanclub 