9 November: (One of) The First Snow(s)

They could have been

Particles of dust

(until they hit my

tongue)

Parted mouth

Hovering gasoline and the bright red of neon – fill-up station in darkness and snow

Only dinner time in the Northland

Flakes falling at me

(faster)

Night air crisp as tart apples

While Industry wafts in West Duluth

It’s half past five

And the kids are waiting for me