Window Facing Backyard.3
Snow had fallen into the yard, a boy
was making a snowman; no, not
a fat one, but a small and skinny one
much snow falls down a dark space
between tall buildings.
The boy, whose mother clean steps
and lives in the basement flat, gave
the snowman coal eyes, carrot nose
and personality, it also wore my old
baseball cap.
When April came and snowmen in
nice people’s gardens had melted,
ours was still there, minus eyes and
nose; I kept sensing his presence, as
a work of art, after his final demise.