In Transit (Poetry)

A black and broken stick pokes out
the snowman’s battered hat
he stares across suburban lawns
as though he wonders at
the tidiness of fallen white
covering the past
water shines his button eyes
for nothing’s meant to last.

Inside his frozen head he knows
the thaw is bound to come
and turn him to a heap of slush
beneath a dismal sun
yet while he’s there he gazes round
just soaking in the view
because he knows in his own way
he’s only passing through.