Snowing in Cincinnati

Intersections I walk down an avenue turned over black and brown from tires discarding snow. On the sidewalks, men in heavy jackets and woolen ski masks hunch over with metal shovels. Cars lining the curbs are iced and re-iced over, drowned in snow. A single car is free of snow though wrapped around a splintered telephone pole. The car is left unattended, emergency lights flashing. A tall and thin, sun-yellow home sits at the end of the avenue. The sidewalks continue, north and south, up and down the steep intersection that travels separate ways-- each running into other intersections that veer off into unseen roads. Snow on this intervening street has been tread, and tread over, compacted into two parallel paths. The sidewalk running north and south has boot-prints at varying angles meshed together in a chaotic history-- Spinning the compass of direction without end. Carefully, I trace this history through fear of stepping outside it. The sun-yellow home stands behind me. Men shovel on the avenue I recently passed. The Chevelle is left alone slowly collecting a thin layer of snow. I walk up a road turned over in parallel, snowed-in lines that never touch.