The Shadow Against the Snow

A Poem

Photo by Andreas Dress on Unsplash

there’s a blizzard in the cards,
or so the men on the radio say —
far away in their palace cities
that will never know harm

we wait in our hovels
that double as homes
and they say there’s no horror
in these secret hideaways

there’s a storm stirring
on that far horizon,
but we work to the bone
just to live another day

they tell us we should be happy,
that there’s no pity in misery —
we should think them merciful
and count our stagnant blessings

there was once a stag
lying in the snowbank,
its eyes bleary and wide,
and it breathed its last right there

how different are you or I
from that beautiful creature
left to its own devices
till it died alone and cold?

should we be grateful
when you let us live
in our rundown shacks
that echo generations of pain?