Transient

For days now, maybe weeks,
Snow has been coming and going.
Not letting go, not quite in control,
Like the viruses keeping us all on edge.
It lies poised on grasses and winter berries,
Between water and ice, catching rainbows,
Sliding off roofs, dissolving under footfall.

If this were January, we say,
We’d know what we were in for.
The snow would lie, intransigent,
Till we’re sick of it and grow bitter-eyed,
Nonchalant in our cars on frozen roads.

We don’t know what to expect, now,
Of weather. Of self-styled leaders, we expect the worst.
They rarely disappoint.
We, in stone houses with no ambient warmth,
Switch off the odd light,
Turn down the sinful boiler,
Shiver in extra jumpers, even though
We know we’re alone, while off they fly
In chartered jets: to gorge and gabble and guzzle,
And trade in carbon neutral bullshit.

Snow melts,
But rides in again on wild winds
To lie, and freeze, and then trickle away
In the unforgiving sun. And we
Must rise, and gather storms around us
Like blankets. Walk out, speak out
And keep on, and on, regardless.