Before and After the Ice Storm

After the ice storm,
water drips from everything that is Nature,
and from everything that isn't.

Before, under a translucent and blue sky,
my dying car
was being worked on
by a dozen calloused hands.

Raised high on beams,
detached steel pipes
sagged underneath the car.

In the lobby, coffee percolated into a clear pot.
One repairman looked blankly out into the distance,
as the coffee raised a finger's height.

Blue sparks flew,
in a dark room,
from a drill being operated
by a thick-bearded fat man.

A tall and thin man
sauntered inside,
putting several thick stacks of paper bills
onto the counter.

Now, icicles fall
and shatter onto the ground,
over and over,
making pretty sounds.