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The Snowman
by Doris Watts
Once he was rolled and hoisted into place,
he stood it seemed apart within the snow,
a listener in a winter’s windy space.
Of course, where else was there for him to go
as he was surely of the snow itself
with bits of stick and rock that got mixed in
(but really snow, he claimed, and nothing else)
on that afternoon when we assembled him.
Then came, as always does, the day with sun,
and true to its cliché, he soon was gone.
All that remained there on the barren ground
was nothing — and such twigs as lay around
like words of a veracious alphabet,
a carrot, and last summer’s boater hat.
Doris Watts lives in Temecula, California. Her poems have appeared in Mezzo Cammin, The Formalist (she was twice a finalist in the Howard Nemerov Sonnet competition), Blue Unicorn, and The Lyric. She is a graduate of the University of Redlands and has a Special Major Master’s Degree in Technical Communication from San Diego State University.
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Pat Jones
Published 20 May 2010