Bitter snows don’t bother Lucas.
Every week day morning
As I bus to my factory
He gets on two stops after Terminal.
Stainless steel canes
Wrapping his forearms.
Clattering happily.
Might have waited
Twenty minutes outside.
Snot dripping.
Mighty gloves, scarf.
Leather cap
With those furry
Ottawa ear lugs.
Smiling, not shivering.
Gotta be eighty something.
Grew up on farm
Outside New Hamburg.
“Snow drifts right up
To the hydro lines.
Walks to and fro’
Country school.”
Herculean hikes.
So this morning in
Current winter.
No biggy.
Going to a coffee shop.
South side of Kitchener.
Enjoys all of the counter staff there.
First name basis.
Gracious smiling women.
Earning a buck.
Gives purpose to his ancient day.
Finds delightful conversation
Visitors from all walks.
Without fail
And without attending to
the morning’s Sun Edition for consumption.
For pointless info.
(Chiefly a sports and movies rag, anyways.)
About this poem
I would often meet and chat with this upbeat Old Fellow. On the number eight Bus.
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Written on May 08, 2023
Submitted by dougb.19255 on May 08, 2023
Modified by dougb.19255 on May 08, 2023
- 56 sec read
- 9 Views
Quick analysis:
| Scheme | ABXXXBXXAXXBX AAXXXXCXXXDA XDXXEXXEXXXECX |
|---|---|
| Closest metre | Iambic trimeter |
| Characters | 932 |
| Words | 189 |
| Stanzas | 3 |
| Stanza Lengths | 13, 12, 14 |
11 fans
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"Bitter snows don’t bother Lucas." Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/158409/bitter-snows-don’t-bother-lucas.>.
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