January morning

January Morning

Winter.
The lady’s cold, rheumatic fingers
scratch away some ice
from her windows.
Some children in the street throwing snowballs.
Clunk! Snow hits the wall, and sticks,
freezing into chunks of ice.
“Clear off!” the lady screams,
“Get away from here!”
She lifts her stick at the boys.
Snowballs lobbed in the air –
one hits the window.
Plop! The snow is soft this time,
ice flakes drag down the pane.
“Clear off!” the lady screams,
but the children can’t hear her,
her voice is frail, like a breath –
seen clearly on this icy-white January morning.